


Prison Break

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adding tags as I go along, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mention of Suicide, Enemies to Lovers, Feel free to skip chapter 1 if graphic violence/torture bothers you, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Reaper and Sombra are secret Talon BFFs, Reaper is a potty mouth, Reaper simultaneously ruins and saves the day, Slow Burn, Story is rated M except for chapter 19, Talon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: Soldier 76 gets captured by Talon trying to sneak data out of their base of operations. Luckily for him, he was trained in the military on how to deal with terrorists and imprisonment. Unfortunately for him, that terrorist is Reaper.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **If torture or graphic violence bothers you, feel free to skip to the next chapter without worry of missing too much plot!**

This was the fourteenth—fifteenth, sixteenth day maybe, his memory was starting to get foggy—day in a row that Jack had been strung up in this damned concrete room. He was starting to think that Talon was running out of ways to torture him. Each day they would come in, hurt him in some way while trying to extract info from him, and each day they would leave resultless and even more frustrated. They picked the wrong Overwatch member to kidnap. 

Back during his SEP days, he and his fellow super soldiers had been trained extensively on how to resist interrogation and torture. “Hell Week”, the recruits had called it. A week filled with every method imaginable, from waterboarding to electrocution. You had two chances, and the minute you spilled the second time you were out of the program. Like basic, but a hell of a lot worse. Jack remembered he slept for a solid two days straight after the week was over. Gabriel had made fun of him for it, but he learned later that he had only woken up mere hours before him. 

Jack had been hanging in the room for what felt like hours now, dangling from his bound wrists. They hadn't bothered with the bag over his head this time, thank god, but his arms had fallen asleep an hour ago. Shifting in the restraints brought little comfort. He hoped that they would just get this done and over with so he could go back to his cell and get some damn sleep. 

As if by command, Jack’s ears perked up as heavy bootsteps fell outside. There was the sound of numbers being input into a keypad and the heavy door swung open. There stood Reaper, clad all in black with that stupid skull mask just as before. “Hello, Soldier 76.”

Jack didn't respond, instead choosing to stare down the figure. He watched as the masked man strode across the room, stopping mere feet in front of him, invading his personal space. 

“I heard that you haven't been cooperating lately.”

“...”

Reaper sighed dramatically, the sound escaping his mask like a low growl instead. He began pacing, taking slow languid steps around the soldier. “This would go a lot easier if you would just cooperate with us. I don't want to be here wasting my precious time, and I'm sure you don't either. Not that we could just let you go, as I’m sure you know, but we could certainly make your current predicament more… comfortable for you. All we need to know is who all was contacted during the Overwatch recall.”

“Screw you.” Jack smirked. “There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't already been done.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“What are you going to do, angst me to death?” Reaper backhanded him, hard. The spikes on his glove dug into Jack’s skin, tearing through. He cursed, spitting onto the floor. Damn that hurt! Fucking spiked edgelord gloves! Blood began trickling out from the wound, crimson steadily pooling onto the concrete floor below him.

“Talk.”

“Screw you.” A punch to the gut this time. Jack wheezed, desperately tried to suck in air in shallow gasps, but it felt as though a five-ton weight had been strapped to his chest. As he was getting his wind back, there was another blow to his gut. And another one. The weight became twenty-pounds, his diaphragm violently spasming from the onslaught of punches. He couldn't breath.

“Talk.”

Jack had meant to respond with a smart-assed remark, but all he could do was gape his mouth like a water-starved fish as he gasped and stared at the ground in anxiety-ridden bewilderment. 

“What, nothing to say now?” Reaper chuckled darkly, “Then I guess I'm done with you for now. But I’ll be back.” Reaper clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked past and back towards the door. Jack stared on as his black coat fluttered behind him dramatically before his figure disappeared behind the steel door again. 

 

\------

 

When Jack came to again, he was still dangling by his wrists from the chains. It felt like every ounce of blood in his body had accumulated at his fingertips. Shit, he was going to lose his arms from circulation loss at this rate. Thankfully though, they at least had had the decency to put a step back under his feet. Maybe he wouldn't  _ totally  _ lose an arm now. Just a part of one.  _ How gracious of them.  _

Jack heard heavy footsteps outside of the door again. Probably Reaper, he thought hazily, nobody else would wear ridiculous platform boots like that. 

In strode Reaper, full black getup as per usual. “Hello, Soldier 76.” 

“Hello, Reaper,” Soldier 76 mocked, trying to imitate the deep gravel of the wraith’s voice. With a snarl Reaper kicked the step  the step out from under him and again he was hanging. The sudden strain on his abdomen sucked the air from his lungs, making it harder to breath again. It felt like he could breath half of what he could before. Yeah, he could definitely do without this. 

“Are you going to behave today?” Reaper asked, beginning his leisurely stroll around the soldier. 

“Probably not.”

"I see.” Reaper paused, stopping in front of the mercenary. “How about we play a game then, mix things up. I’m going to name off a list of people, you stop me when one of the names strikes your fancy and you can tell me where we’d find them, hm?”

“Implying that I actually know where anyone is.”

“Alright, let's begin. Lena Oxton.”

Silence. Reaper cracked his knuckles menacingly.

“Angela Ziegler.”

More silence. Reaper responded in turn by punching Jack in the stomach, the force of it sending him swinging in his chains. The extra movement exerted even more strain on his wrists, becoming more and more painful. 

“Jesse McCree.”

The wraith waited only moments before delivering the same blow to the gut. Jack cursed; every part of his body was screaming at him to make it stop, his brain wanting to just tell them what they wanted to know and  _ end this. _ “I don't know where they are!” He gasped.

“If you don't know anything, then you're useless and there's no point in sparing your wretched life.”

“Do it then!”

Reaper stepped forward, malice emanating from the hollow eye sockets of the skull mask. As he reached a clawed hand out, Soldier 76 swung his body weight out and effectively kicked Reaper in the head. The wraith fell backwards, clutching at his mask-covered face and shouting a string of obscenities. Soldier 76 withdrew, satisfied with himself despite the burning pain that was now shooting up and down his wrists. That kick would have killed most people, he thought, or at least knocked them unconscious, but he had a feeling that this Reaper guy was not most people.

“You fucking—” Reaper hissed, jerking himself upright, hand still on the mask. “I’m going to break your leg for that.” Like a banshee he rushed forward, gripping at his shins. Despite 76’s best efforts, he managed to get a hold of one leg, and slammed his elbow down onto his tibia. Jack screamed and watched in horror as his leg bent unnaturally, broken. The leg fell to the ground, limp and motionless. 

All Jack remembered as he faded into unconsciousness was Reaper leaving the room in a blurry huff, and several more guards shoving their way through the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

His mask. He had cracked his _fucking_ mask! He was more mad about that than anything.

Looking in the mirror, Reaper could see that there was a fairly wide gash at his brow, the blood a sharp contrast against his pallid skin. Shit, that was gonna scar. Just what he needed: more scars. His whole body was a goddamn scar at this point! Grabbing a cloth, he started dabbing at the wound.

There was a light knocking at his door. Now of all times, he thought, frustrated. “ _What?”_

“It's your favorite hacker-extraordinaire.”

Reaper sighed. He was rarely in the mood to deal with Sombra’s sass, with right now being no exception. Scooping back up his mask, he attempted to strap it back to his face to the best of his ability and threw open the door. “What is it, Sombra?"

Sombra stood at the door, sassy as ever with one hand on her hip. She quirked an eyebrow, purple eyes scanning over the wraith in front of her. “...Did you break your mask, _pendejo_?”

“Observant as always,” Reaper snarled. “Now what do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much, I just heard that you got your ass kicked and I wanted to see for myself.”

“Well, you've seen. You can leave now.”

“Your face is bleeding.”

As if on cue, a drop of blood rolled down onto Reaper’s under armor. He dabbed at it, never breaking eye contact. “So?”

Sombra squinted at Reaper, incredulous. Men could be so stupid sometimes! “I’m coming in,” she announced, slipping past Reaper’s massive form. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Live a more nuisance-free life, probably.” Reaper sighed. There was never room to argue with this woman. Between her and Widowmaker, he had dealt with enough attitude to last him a lifetime—and beyond. They were both stubborn as hell, but he honestly didn't mind their company most of the time _._ Sombra was the more entertaining of the two; he would never admit it, but he appreciated her sense of humor. While it clashed with his own stoic standoffish personality, it did always added a bit of entertainment to their missions.

By the time Reaper had closed the door, Sombra was already busy at work, rifling through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. “Where do you keep your first-aid stuff?”

“In the cabinet beneath the sink.” Once she set her mind on something there was no stopping her, Reaper had realized a long time ago. As long as she wasn't causing too much harm, Reaper usually allowed whatever harebrained idea she had. At the same time, however, he had no issue with pulling rank and putting her in her position. It felt good sometimes—cathartic, even.

As Reaper sat down on the lone stool in his room, arms crossed so that Sombra would know that he was _not happy_ , the hacker came sauntering back out of the bathroom with first-aid kit in hand. She made a noise at his obvious show of inhospitality and had to squat down on the floor instead. “I can't help if I can't see what I'm dealing with, _pendejo._ ”

“I told you I didn't want your help in the first place, _Sombra,”_ Reaper hissed, drawing out the letters in her name.

“Hey.” The hacker pulled away to square herself up with the other man. “Are you worried about how you look? Is that why you won't take the mask off?”

“No!”

Yes. While Sombra didn't consider herself a psychologist by any means, she could tell that her friend was _very_ insecure about his appearance—despite him constantly trying to prove otherwise. Why else would anyone wear that much clothing in this heat? It was edgy, sure, but it was a bit much. A lot much, in fact. “What if I pinky promise you that it won't bother me?” Not much could bother her nowadays anyway. She had watched firsthand as omnics broke into her home in the dead of night and slaughtered her family. It would be hard to top the horrors of that night. She put a hand up to Reaper’s cheek.

It had meant to be a comforting gesture, but Reaper took it as an attempt to yank off his mask. His hand shot out and wrenched the hacker’s hand away by the wrist. “Ow!” She jumped, more startled than in actual pain. “Touchy…”

“I said… _I don't need your help.”_ Reaper was practically seething by this point, smoke funneling through the holes in his mask like an angry chimney. He softened at the look on Sombra’s face. It wasn't fear in her expressive violet eyes, but hurt. Reaper huffed and released Sombra’s wrist. He was getting weak in his old age. God he hoped that he wasn't going to regret this later. Knowing the hacker, she was probably going to use this as blackmail against him at some point in the future. Pulling the hood back, he reached around his head to undo the straps holding the ivory skull mask in place. He had to be careful with it as to not aggravate the new crack in it any more. Trying his best to repress any emotions that may have tried to arise—he didn't need to feel anymore, damn it!—Reaper calmed himself and placed the mask in his lap. He quirked a scarred eyebrow at Sombra, waiting for any reaction.

Nothing. Her face remained a blank slate as she tried again to caress his cheek. Reaper let her this time, internally revelling at the first human contact he had felt in decades.

“ _Muy guapo, Gabriel._ I'm sure you knocked the ladies dead back in your prime.”

Reaper growled, not quite sure what to make of the praise. He wanted to argue, argue that he was not, in fact, handsome. Maybe back in the day, but not now. He didn’t know too many people who would describe burnt and mangled flesh as _handsome_. He supposed he appreciated the attempt at praise though. Better than having someone flinch back in repulsion. “Alright, hurry up.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She reached into the first-aid kit and went to work. There was a large gash that had opened on his forehead, currently dribbling blood down his face and over the maze of scars. Ouch. That was definitely going to need stitches. The two remained relatively silent throughout the process, Sombra pausing occasionally to ask how Reaper was doing or if something hurt or to call him a baby when he grunted in pain. In the end, Sombra had to admire her work. She'd never tell Gabe that this was, in fact, her first time ever having done stitches. All things given though she didn't think she did half bad. And his face wasn't nearly as horrifying without the stream of blood on it. ‘ _Good job Sombra; thanks, Sombra,’_ she thought to herself pleasantly.

Reaper ran a gloved finger over his forehead, feeling the bumps of the thread poking through his flesh. “Thanks.” Although it didn't show in his voice, he was grateful for the young woman. That would have been a bitch to fix on his own.

“Not a problem, Gabe.” And with that, Sombra was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 50% more Sombra!


	3. Chapter 3

Jack mentally felt like he could sleep for days. Now if only his body could get the memo that yes, he very much needed sleep right now. He would doze off on the cold concrete floor of his cell for minutes at a time before a searing pain—in his mangled leg, his stomach, his head—woke him up. It was a small saving grace that his hands and wrists had gone numb days ago, so at least he didn't feel the cut of the handcuffs into his skin. Instead, he just felt the burning tingle from the previous lack of circulation. His arms felt like they had fallen asleep years ago and were still trying to wake up. In retrospect now, whether that actually was a saving grace was to be debated.

Several people walked past his cell. He could see them from the small glass window on the door. Groups of Talon lackeys mostly, crowding around to gawk at the old Overwatch guy, He knew they were mocking him. He was sure that he didn't look like much right now; he could feel the fat and muscle already disappearing from his once built frame, leaving what probably just looked like a starved and scarred senior citizen in its wake. They had taken his clothes and equipment, only leaving him with a modest pair of grey sweat pants. A shirt would have been nice, he thought. These goddamned terrorists kept the place feeling like Antarctica, probably as a big ‘screw you, we have money for AC’ to the current boiling temperatures in Mexico.

An older lady with bright orange hair looked in. Disappeared. Reappeared. Waved. The vigilante would have flipped her off if he could only articulate his fingers.

Damn, he needed to get some sleep. At this rate he wouldn't even have the mental capacity to formulate an escape plan. He remembered enough of the facility, it shouldn't be hard once he got out of the cell. Him and Ana had gone over the plan several times before starting the operation: sneak in when that Juarez guy was asleep, download some quick files from his computer, slip out. The facility was minimal security in comparison to a lot of other bases he had broken into; this one should have been a piece of cake. However, there had been a slight hiccup in the plan. The minute he stuck that chip in the computer, a dark smoke had begun filling the room. The terrorist known as Reaper (Reaper? _Really?_ ) was there behind him, shotgun pointed to his skull. It was as if he had known ahead of time he was going to be there. Like always. Even though he had checked with _several_ sources that Reaper was supposed to be in Russia right now.

The layout of the base had been fairly easy to memorize at least. Hopefully his brain and body wouldn't give out on him when he most needed, like he was currently thinking it was going to.

The orange-haired lady came by again. Took some notes. Left again.

He dozed for a good 20 minutes before the sound of his cell door opening woke him again. Jack mentally cursed whoever had the gall to disrupt his 30 minute sleep-agony routine.

“Supper time.” A Talon member in black riot attire entered, carrying a tray of what was supposed to be food. Behind him was the woman from before. Jack scrutinized her face. Her sharp features were distinct enough to where the vigilante felt a strong sense of familiarity. He muddled through his foggy brain, trying to recall exactly where it was he recognized her from before it hit him.

The geneticist Gabe had hired.

It didn't surprise him that she was working for Talon now. She had always been batshit crazy, pushing the ethical boundaries of Overwatch with every research project. He distinctly remembered the time back when he was the Overwatch commander when he had stumbled into her lab on patrol one night, only to be greeted by the sight of hundreds of dead rabbits drained of what could only be described as their life essence. A haunting sight, and the last straw before he forced Gabe to fire her ass.

“Soldier 76, I'm Dr. Moira O’Deorain.”

Yeah, I know who you are, Jack almost said out loud. He didn't know how much Talon knew about his vigilante alter ego, however, so he kept it to himself instead.

“I’ll be your caretaker during your stay.”

“My stay? That’s a nice way of phrasing being held captive and tortured.” The Talon lackey dropped the tray of food beside him. The red-haired freak nodded in his direction, and he left.

“I have a few personal questions to ask you. If you would be so kind as to answer them honestly—”

“Your friend with the skull mask already tried, lady.”

Moira continued, not one to be interrupted by her subjects. “—you’ll find that this will be most beneficial to you. Question one: what is your fondest memory?”

Jack snorted. “The time you let me eat and go back to sleep.”

The geneticist paused, breathed. “Of course. Question two: what is your deepest fear?”

“You not leaving to let me eat and go back to sleep.” Jack smirked. The lady didn't do a very good job at hiding her resentment. Professional or not, she was gripping that clipboard awfully hard right now. Probably not used to trying to get results out of people without brutal force. Amateur.

“Again, _sir,_ let me remind you that I am here to help you. I will ask again: what is your deepest—”

“You not leaving to let me eat and go back to sleep.”

She was shaking, Jack observed. Her right hand was now clawing at the clipboard, long talon-like fingernails leaving scratches in the wood. She huffed. “I see you're not receptive to questioning right now. I will come back later."

“Don’t bother.”

With a final deeply frustrated sigh, the lanky geneticist turned around to leave the cell, placing her slender hand on the fingerprint reader until the machine flashed green and opened the door.

The shrill beeps of the scanner as Moira was leaving caught 76’s attention. If he was going to get out of this godforsaken hell hole, it was going to have to be through that, unfortunately. Scanners made everything more difficult; Jack could usually pick a lock no problem. It was a skill McCree had taught him just for the hell of it many years ago, one that had come in handy numerous times doing missions for Overwatch, and especially during his time as a vigilante. Those skills were only for standard tumbler locks, however; McCree had never taught him how to lock pick _a damned security system_. He studied the device, trying to get his muddled brain to come up with something, anything.

The guard from before sidestepped around Moira, saluted her, and reentered the cell. He was a smaller man, definitely one of the lankier guards that 76 had seen around here, choosing to wear just the dark balaclava rather than the more intimidating standard Talon helmet. Maybe 5’4 on a good day. He would have been eaten alive in the military, 76 thought. Supposing that Talon even cared if their men were properly trained in the battlefield or not. He liked to think that no military man would sink low enough to join these scumbags in the first place—except for Gabriel, apparently. If this guard was supposed to be intimidating, then Talon was really pulling from the bottom of the barrel.

As 76 was sizing up the Talon guard taking his untouched food tray away, an idea finally sprung to mind. It wasn’t going to be the easiest take down he had ever done, but it was very possible if done properly. The older soldier could have cried with relief. _This was his chance if everything went right._ He could only hope.

Soldier 76 murmured something.

“What?” The guard whipped his head around to focus on the vigilante, tray of food still in hand.

“I know where they are,” he murmured again.

The guard carefully set the tray down this time, leaning in while focusing on the subtle movements of 76’s mouth. “Where who is? Overwatch?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you finally confessing? Let me go get—”

“No, there’s no time. Come here.” He motioned with his head. His voice was low and wavering in an attempt to portray physical weakness. It wasn’t hard to pull off at this point, if 76 was being honest with himself. It actually did feel as if he was hit by a train.

The Talon lackey eyed him suspiciously behind the balaclava. Finally, he yielded and crouched to the ground, cautiously scooting closer to the prisoner.

“Lena Oxton. She’s…” As soon as the guard was in range, 76 slammed his forehead into the man’s face. The guard let out a pained cry, wobbled in an attempt to regain his balance, and collapsed to the floor in a heap. Soldier 76 smiled to himself despite the stars that had burst forth in front of his eyes at the contact.

This was it. This was his chance.

He had to be fast. Frantically, he glanced around the room to make sure no one had seen the spectacle at hand. His watched the sole window in the cell for several moments. The coast looked clear enough. Trying not to look at the way his leg moved unnaturally with the movement, Soldier 76 heaved his body weight forward to scoot closer to the guard’s unconscious body. His broken leg trailed uselessly beside him. After several attempts, he eventually managed to hook his handcuffed arms around the guard’s torso. God, he hoped no one was around to watch this strenuous ordeal as Jack began dragging the body towards the door.

 

But if this worked, he was going to shit himself.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“The prisoner is gone!” Someone shouted from down the hall.

_ What?  _ Could he relax for ten minutes without one of these clueless fucks messing something up? Sometimes Reaper sweared to god he was the only competent person in this damn organization. He practically kicked down the door to the cell, looking for whoever it was that had made the exclamation. There was a wiry guard in the corner holding his face while frantically searching the room. 

“Where the fuck did he go?” Reaper slammed the man against the wall, holding him by the front of his blood-stained uniform. His nose was efficiently broken.

“I-I don't know, sir! He was here earlier, a-and I have no idea how he would have gotten out!”

“Were you on guard?”

“Yes, but then he—”

“Ugh!” Reaper threw him down onto the ground and phased back out of the room. Where could he have even gone? He had made sure that both his wrists were handcuffed before he had left earlier. Fuck! He scanned the hallway, looking for any trace of the escaped vigilante. He smirked as his gaze fell upon the slight trail of blood leading around the corner. _Found you._

It didn't take him long to find the emaciated body awkwardly dragging itself along. His leg was still broken awkwardly, a grotesque sight to behold. “Hey there.”

Soldier 76 froze. Damn, he thought he'd have at least an extra hour before the wraith would show up. Figured that he never slept. “Hey.” In no condition to fight right now, he chose to prop himself up against the wall instead.

“You're bleeding all over our nice floors.”

“Whoops. Must have missed that part.” Somewhere along the way a wound must have opened up. Great. Adrenaline courses through his veins, temporarily blocking a lot of the physical and hunger pangs.

“I have to take you back, you know.”

“I’ll pay you a nickel if you don't.”

Reaper chuckled lowly. “A tempting offer. But no.” He eyed the vigilante’s mangled left leg. “Can you walk?”

“Barely.”

“Good.” The thought of breaking his other leg briefly flashed through Reaper’s mind. That'd show him for trying to make a fool out of him. There would be no guarantee that the excessive trauma wouldn't knock him out though. A shame. And what good was a hostage if they couldn't talk? He didn't have time to watch Soldier 76 crawl/hop back to his holding cell. Instead, Reaper elected to roughly throw him up and over his shoulder, ignoring the resulting grunt of pain out of the man. The task was easier than he had originally thought; the soldier weighed a lot less than he used to back in the day. Probably because he was looking like a starved dog by this point, but who knew.

By the time they reached the cell block, Soldier 76 had stopped resisting, choosing to lay limp on his shoulder instead. Reaper nonchalantly tossed him in the corner with a thud.

There was no response.

...Shit, did he kill him? His higher ups would not be pleased if he’d killed him so soon without learning anything about Overwatch. Reaper ghosted down next to the man to check his pulse.

It was still there. Good. He must have just passed out.

Reaper took the time while the soldier was unconscious to scrutinize his pallid face. He looked disheveled, to say the least. His silver hair was sticking up awkwardly in places, there were dark circles under his eyes. Hell, he probably hadn't slept in days. The wretch.

As he was scanning him over, a sense of familiarity swept over the wraith. Something about his face struck a chord. But he couldn't say exactly what it was. It hovered at the back of his mind just out of reach. Reaper cursed to himself. What was this? Pity? Something else? At this distance he could see his old friend in the vigilante’s features.

At some point during Reaper’s scrutiny, his subject had regained consciousness and was now half-lucidly staring back at him. Although Jack was no longer the golden poster boy he was before, his pale eyes still gave off the alluring confidence that they had had back during their Overwatch days together, many years ago.

“See something you like?” Soldier 76 quipped groggily.

“You look like a fucking train wreck.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

A minute of silence, then “Do you know who I am?”

The out-of-nowhere question took Jack by surprise, pulling his brain out of the fog. It took him longer than it should have to comprehend what he had asked. Did he know who he was? At some point in time, sure. Over a decade ago he had known his partner better than he had even known himself. Now, he wasn't so sure. But Jack was almost certain the question wasn't referring to that. “Yeah, I know who you are. Took me a bit, but I don't know anyone else who'd have the balls to wield two shotguns at the same time like you do. Thought you were dead, Gabe.”

Reaper nodded and reluctantly stood back up. He gave Soldier 76 one last kick to the ribs for propriety's sake and turned to leave the cell. “Bind his wrists and ankles this time,” he instructed a guard on his way out. “If he gets out again, it's on your head.”

 

\------

 

Reaper didn't know when he had been put on prisoner duty. Because he sure as hell hadn't signed up for it. There were dedicated people in Talon for prisoner interrogation, guarding, feeding. And yet Reaper found himself doing all three. It’s not like he had other important stuff to be doing, no. This was just fucking _peachy._

“The guards tell me you haven't been eating or drinking the past two days.”

“Did they also tell you that I haven't been able to move my arms and hands to eat or drink in the past two days?”

“...” Those fuckers. “Your hands were unbound. What's the problem?”

“Something’s wrong. I can't move them.”

At least the vigilante was honest about his medical problems. It was probably some sort of nerve damage from being suspended for so long. Most of the people they interrogated didn't stick around long enough to sustain serious damage. But Soldier 76 was a special case, one of the rare few that had to be kept alive. Reaper could probably have Moira come in and fix 76’s arms later if it turned out to be permanent. “If you don't start eating, we’ll just hook you up to an IV by force.”

“Don't bother. I'd rather starve.”

Reaper sighed. It felt like he was talking to a petulant child, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with this right now. “IV it is, then.”

Soldier 76 looked up, fixing Reaper with his pale blue gaze. “Unless you’d rather feed me by hand, Gabriel.”

“Don't call me that.”

He smiled, knowing that he had struck a chord with the terrorist. Most people wouldn't have been able to notice the subtle mannerisms, the slight clench of Reaper’s gloved fists. But 76 knew his old comrade—old lover, even—almost better than he knew himself. When your life depends on another teammate having your back in the heat of battle, you need to be able to read them at a moment’s notice. “Sorry. Habit.”

Rage filled Reaper’s gaze as he quickly closed the gap between himself and the vigilante.

And punched him square in the face.

76 spat out a mouthful of blood, having accidentally bit his tongue on impact. Yeah, he would definitely feel that tomorrow. But it was worth it just to watch the cloaked figure angrily storm back out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

“You said you caught him trying to break into a Talon stronghold?”

“Yeah, the base in Castillo. Caught him downloading the contents of  _ someone’s  _ non-encoded laptop.” Reaper gave a pointed look to a stout mustached man at the end of the conference table. “Sombra, after we’re done here follow Mr. Juarez back to his office and encrypt  _ all  _ of his personal electronics.”

“Can do, boss,” Sombra piped in, deeming her nail filing to be more important than paying attention to the meeting. 

“And what did you do with this Soldier 76, Reaper?” Asked Maximilien, steepling his steel fingers.

“Threw him in confinement. Torture. Standard protocol. We’re currently trying to extract the locations of the other Overwatch members out of him. To no luck.”

“You always were soft on him. You had your chance to kill him in Giza, but you didn’t.” Doomfist spoke calmly. His back was turned to the Council of Leaders as he looked out the darkened window at the arid landscape instead. “If this were anyone else they'd already be dead.”

Reaper bristled at the accusation. How did he know about that little slip up back in Giza? Not that it was even his fault that the mission had failed; he hadn’t been expecting a certain other ghost from his past to show up. He’d have to do some poking around to find out who had told Talon the specifics. “He has vital information that we need, Doomfist. He's worth more to us alive than dead.”

“It's been over a month. What have you learned from him?”

“Nothing yet, but—”

“They're probably looking for him now,” interrupted Doomfist, referring to the scattered members of Overwatch. “What happens when they do find him? I go to jail again? One of our own dies? Admit it, you have your own selfish reasons for—”

“Woah, looks like we got a professional psychologist over here!” Sombra snickered, having finally put down the nail file to listen in on their conversation. “Put a sock in it already,  _ Akande.” _

_ “That’s enough, Sombra!”  _ Reaper snapped as plumes of dark smoke began steadily rising around him. Nobody fought his battles for him.

Maximilien interjected. “Reaper’s right. Soldier 76 could serve as a valuable asset to us. Sanjay and I were talking earlier, and we think we've come up with a solution to our little interrogation problem.”

“I'm listening,” bit Reaper, attempting to his current murderous rage.

“ _ Operation Widowmaker. _ ”

“What exactly are you implying?”

“It's quite simple,” the omnic began, rising from his spot at the table. “Who would know the location of Overwatch better than a former Overwatch member? And who would Overwatch trust more than a former member? It's perfect.” He started mechanically pacing around the conference room. “We brainwash Soldier 76, have him eliminate the remaining members of Overwatch, and train him to be  _ our  _ perfect soldier. After all, it worked so well last time,” he stated matter-of-factly, nodding at Widowmaker sitting silently at the other end of the room. “And then Talon will be free to do as it pleases.”

“I don't like it. It takes the satisfaction away from a proper kill.” Reaper had a suspicion that the present Talon leaders, save Sombra, believed that Soldier 76 was just a former Overwatch member. They didn't know that he was so much more than that to them, that he was their former  _ leader  _ prior to the explosion. It was probably for the better. If Talon knew that he currently had Jack Morrison tied up back at base, they would be breathing down his neck nonstop. Reaper wouldn't give them that satisfaction, especially that smug bastard Doomfist. “Besides, I want every last one of them to fall by my own hands.”

Doomfist smirked, finally turning to face Reaper. “I knew you’d gone soft.”

“Says the man afraid of clowns…” Sombra murmured under her breath. 

Reaper fixed the hacker with another glare before continuing. “I have everything under control back at base.”

“Good, then I trust you will be able to fully support Dr. O’Deorain during the procedure,” stated Maximilien in a mockingly perky voice.

The lanky geneticist straightened in her chair at the mention of her name and smiled. “Indeed. I am looking forward to this experiment.”

Reaper shot up. If he didn't ever have to work with that lunatic scientist again, he would be more than happy. Even Jack deserved better than whatever bullshit experiment Moira was cooking up in her brain. “I don’t—”

“Good. Then it's settled then.”

 

\------

 

“Fuck!” Reaper slammed his fist into the wall once they were out of sight. For over a decade he’d been in this goddamn organization. He had a bit more power than some robot and his fuck buddies, yet here they were! You couldn’t just go around brainwashing everyone at the slightest inclination when torture was a sure-fire method! Reprogramming took time and resources. More than they currently had. And O’Deorain’s little “projects” were expensive as shit to fund. Did they even have any idea what mess they were about to get themselves into?

“Why do you let them walk all over you like that, Gabe?” Asked Sombra, eyeing the newly formed hole in the wall with concern.

“Don't call me that. And it's not a matter of  _ letting _ , it's a matter of those fucking idiotic higher ups thinking they can do whatever they please just because they pay me.” The duo was leaving the conference building on their way back to the jet.

“Why don't you, like, do something about it then if you don't like it,  _ pendejo _ ? I don't always listen to my higher ups.” Sombra winked up at the taller man. “I'm my own independent woman.” 

“Some of us are adults who actually care about job security, Sombra,” retorted Reaper.

The hacker put on a dramatic feigned pout, overtaking Reaper in the hallway. “You wound me.” 

Several minutes of walking went by before the hacker could no longer stand the thick silence. She slapped a hand on Reaper’s back. “But hey! I would have paid big money to see you get into a fist fight with Doomfist.”

“Shut up, Sombra. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doomfist gives exactly 0 hoots about anyone's feelings ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This story takes place after the "Old Soldiers" comic!


	6. Chapter 6

Soldier 76 was woken by the shrill sound of metal on concrete. He groggily opened his eyes, sticky with lack of sleep and dehydration, to find Reaper dragging a chair into his cell. On the chair was a tray of food.

“Twice in one day? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

The vigilante was not in the mood to argue. Every inch of him was miserable. His arms were still useless, several limbs were broken, he hadn't slept in days. He was falling apart, to say the least. A part of him wished Talon would just get this done and over with and assassinate him already; death had to be better than these repetitive sessions of interrogation and sitting in a cell for 20 hours. Yet a part of him still wished to live, just to make their lives more difficult at the same time. Where was Ana? Was she even looking for him at this point?

Reaper pushed the chair in front of 76, throwing down the tray of food. Something brown sloshed onto the floor. “Eat,” Reaper commanded, lowering himself to straddle the chair.

Soldier 76 quirked a gray eyebrow at the tray of food in front of him. It looked disgusting, but hunger had been gnawing at his bones for the past several days. “We’ve talked about this. I'm not shoving my face in that.” His stomach growled in protest.

“You're going to starve.”

“And?”

Reaper hissed in frustration, something he found he did more often whenever he was around the other man. The IV idea from before hadn't worked; Reaper found out that this particular facility apparently hadn't been outfitted with the proper resources for IV feeding. Real glad that they hadn't told him that earlier. Sombra refused to try and feed the ex Overwatch commander, and he didn't trust any of the lackeys to do it without getting their skulls split again. So now Reaper, world-renowned and feared terrorist, was stuck playing nanny with the Boy Scout. “Of all the fucking…” He grabbed the tray and the plastic spork from the floor and stabbed a questionable piece of meat. He held it up to 76’s mouth expectantly. “Here.”

The soldier eyed the chunk of meat suspiciously. It didn't look like any meat he'd ever eaten before, but there wasn't much room to be picky, he supposed. “It's too big. Is the idea here for me to choke on it and die?”

Black plumes of smoke began rising off of Reaper. Was he being picky right now? Really? He haphazardly cut at the meat per his request anyway. “ _Here.”_

That was a bit better. Soldier 76 sniffed at the food, drew away to examine it better, and finally took the plunge and took it in his mouth. _This is definitely not pork or beef_ he thought, hesitantly chewing on it. It was unbelievably dry. But it was food. And food was food.

Several minutes of Reaper feeding 76 by hand went by in relative silence. The vigilante couldn't stop thinking about how out of character this whole interaction was. Usually the hooded terrorist wanted as little interaction with him as possible, yet here he was feeding him processed carrots from a spork. Life was just funny like that sometimes.

“What have you been up to since, y'know, _then?”_

Now there was interest in his personal life? “You know, just living the persona of a man who died six or so years ago. You?”

“Living the persona of a man who died six or so years ago.”

Jack found himself snorting a bit at that. “I guess we’re both just shadows of our former glory days, huh?”

“Speak for yourself. I've never been more powerful.”

“Yeah?” 76 settled himself into a more comfortable position, focusing on Reaper better now that the pangs in his stomach were slowly starting to subside. “You like all this creepy ghost crap and wearing that skull mask?”

“Do you like wearing _your_ mask?” asked Reaper with a tilt of his head, referring to the visor they'd taken from him.

“Deflecting the question, but touché."

Upon 76 finishing the rest of the mush on his plate, Reaper unceremoniously tossed it off to the side. “It's uncomfortable,” Reaper conceded, allowing himself a small moment of honesty. Living in this constantly regenerating skin was also extremely uncomfortable in general, but his prisoner didn't need to know that.

“I’d believe it. Looks hot as hell.”

“You're not wrong.”

“...”

An awkward silence followed, neither one not quite knowing what to say to the other or where to start.

Soldier 76 coughed, the motion sending a wave of pain through his chest. “Gabriel—Reaper—for what it's worth, and I know it's not much… I'm sorry.”

Reaper tilted his head curiously. “For what, exactly?”

“You know…” He hadn't been expecting to explain himself. “Everything. For not listening to you in the first place. For not keeping a closer eye on Blackwatch. All of this happening to you. For _us_ falling apart.” For you having so much hatred in your heart. A million things, if he was being honest.

“Good. You should be.” Reaper stood back up from his straddling position on the metallic chair, tucking it back under his arm. Without another word, the wraith was gone from the room.

 

\------

 

“So you were hand-feeding the prisoner, huh?”

Reaper about dropped the chair at the woman’s voice behind him. And he didn't startle easily. “Sombra! What did I tell you about translocating in the base?”

“Translocating? _Muchacho,_ I’ve been here. You're the one who ghosted all up in here.”

Reaper chose to ignore the Latina, focusing on putting the chair back where he found it instead. She was like a damned magnet that could always pick up when he didn't want to talk to her the most. And right now was one of those times. He just knew that she was going to pry, despite probably already knowing exactly what was said in that cell.

“Doesn't seem like a very Reaper-y thing to do, in my opinion.”

“Because you refused to feed him, you damned ingrate.”

“Yep. You could use the work on your social skills.”

“Did you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Sombra smirked. “The latter. As usual.”

“Great. Now go away. I have paperwork to do.” The hooded terrorist took off in the opposite direction down the hall, the bright overhead lights shining off of his leather coat as he walked. A smaller set of footsteps joined him.

“So what's the story between you two?”

Reaper whirled around angrily to face the woman. “Wouldn't you of all people already know that?”

She shrugged. “It's hard to find decent information on him. Besides, I want the inside scoop.”

“We were comrades back in the day. There's nothing to talk about.”

“ _Just_ comrades? He apologized for ‘what happened between us.’”

“Go. Away.” The words came off of his tongue like hot venom.

“It seems to me like you like him, so why didn't you just accept the apology and—”

Like a bull seeing red, Reaper rushed forward and slammed the hacker into the wall, the mounted lights rattling in their base. He gripped the lapel of her jacket and bent uncomfortably close to her ear. “Because no one likes a half-rotted freak that kills civilians, Sombra. Is that what you wanted?”

Wide violet eyes stared back at him.

Sombra sniffed. She knew when she had gone too far, and this was definitely one of those moments. Even though he may refuse to admit it, Gabe was her friend. She was a lot of talk, but she honestly hadn't meant to upset him like this. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to… y’know.”

Gabriel sighed. Fuck, he was wasn't even in the wrong here and yet here he was feeling bad. Damn woman and her _feelings_. He released her lapel, sending her crashing back to the ground. “Walk with me.”

Getting her way didn't feel nearly as satisfying as it should have, thought Sombra. This was more akin to giving up rather than the usual ‘if I concede Sombra will go away’ treatment. And giving up was not a good color on her friend; he was a lot more entertaining when he was just being an angsty edgelord. Either way, she followed.

“What is it exactly you want to know?” Asked Reaper lowly.

Sombra hesitated. Good question. What was it she wanted to know, besides just his entire life story? Like a game of 20 questions, she knew she would have to be careful with what she asked before Reaper shut her out again. Regaling her with an autobiography was probably not an option. “You two seem like you have history. How did you and Soldier 76 meet?”

“We were part of a soldier enhancement program back in the day. We were partnered up during it—me being his mentor—and it just so happened that we were both selected by the government to be a part of Overwatch.”

“Why did you two, you know, stop being friends then?”

“Because he betrayed me. They brushed me aside to Blackwatch while he got all the glory being Overwatch’s beloved ‘Strike Commander Morrison’ _._ Because of them, I became _this.”_ Reaper gestured to himself, referring to his decaying flesh. “He never appreciated me. “

“Hm.” Sombra chewed on the wraith’s words. This story sounded extremely biased. But Reaper was definitely a drama king, so honestly she wasn't surprised. It was interesting hearing his perspective, though, all things considered. It was a rare treat to hear Reaper express himself outside of _I’m angry and like to kill things._

“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, Gabe.” Sombra didn't want to push her luck by asking anymore questions. She was already walking on thin ice just by asking him about his personal life. If she was patient enough, maybe another moment like this would present itself one day. Maybe.

Reaper scoffed. “Don't call me that. And it's not like I had much of a choice.”

“Mmmhm.” _Because I was totally holding you at gunpoint to talk to me_ , thought Sombra. She smiled. Might as well let him keep his pride. For now, anyway. “Later, Gabe.” With that Sombra, much to Reaper’s annoyance, translocated away in a flash of purple.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! The end of the semester and has been kicking my butt. :U ONE MORE WEEK UNTIL BREAK THOUGH HNNNNGH


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer one, woohoo! Also I edited chapter three a bit.  
> CW for some more torture in the beginning and a brief mention of suicide later on in the chapter.

 

Soldier 76 thrashed against his restraints as the sheet was placed back over his nose and mouth, water threatening to fill his lungs with every panicked breath. Mere seconds stretched on into what felt like the most agonizing hours of his life.

“Talk.”

Shit. _Shit._ He needed to get out of here. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. His brain felt like it was overheating from the lack of oxygen, his lungs spasmed painfully. Jack had been waterboarded before, but never like this. The exercise during his training had been terrible, sure. It had definitely been one of the more miserable moments of his existence. But at least he had taken comfort in the fact that it would be brief, that he could end it whenever. With this, he didn't know how long Reaper would go. And at this moment he held the life of every single Overwatch operative in his hands. He couldn't fail them, he _wouldn’t._ But it was proving to be so goddamn hard right now.

All he had to do was give up one person.

A new stream of water started rolling down his face into the cloth, threatening to spill into his nose. Reflexively, Jack gasped at the contact. Some began dribbling into his mouth, effectively choking him. Shit, he was going to die here.

Just one person.

They’d understand—

Just like that the cloth was pulled from his face. 76’s bare chest heaved violently with exertion as he tried to cough the water out of his airways. He inhaled sharply in an attempt to fill his oxygen-deprived lungs.

“I can go all day, Jackie Boy. I cleared my schedule just for this.”

Reaper stood impatiently above him, having grabbed a new bottle of water from the table beside him.

Jack shuddered. It was so cold in that room. The water had soaked his hair, every fiber of his being. If only he could move his damn arms!

“All I need is a location.”

“Gabe, please!” Jack sobbed, hot tears threatening to spill over. He cared about these people; he'd never hand them over! He would die first.

Reaper tsked in feigned disappointment as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle. “Hate seeing the great Overwatch strike commander like this, reduced to a pathetic sniveling mess. But I’ll get over it.” He reached down and put the soaked cloth back into position.

Jack wept for the first time in six years.

 

\------

 

Reaper absentmindedly rubbed at his gloved knuckles. They were still sore, even with his healing abilities. That wall back at Talon headquarters had been a lot… _harder_ … than he had originally thought. In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to punch a hole in it. Because of both the pain and the wage dock Reaper would no doubt receive until their precious wall was fixed.

Several Talon guards on patrol filed past him as Reaper made his way to the barracks, most of them choosing to stay far out of his way. Probably for the better right now.

Reaper whirled around at the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind him. It was Moira.

“Ah, Reaper. Just the person I was hoping to see.”

That's never a good sign, Reaper thought with a huff. Unless she was coming to see him about her retirement; then that might be okay. “What's up, doc?”

Moira smirked at the wraith’s pitiful reference. “I was hoping to discuss the upcoming operation with you.”

“What about it?” He narrowed his eyes at the geneticist. “I thought you had everything under control.”

“I do. But I wanted to propose possibly moving the operation date forward by three weeks.”

Three weeks? Jesus Christ, that was in four days. “Gee, thanks for the notice. The necessary accommodations haven't been made yet, have they?”

Moira grinned, her heterochromatic eyes bright with excitement. “The equipment arrived ahead of schedule, and the necessary staff will be here tomorrow! All we need to do now is set up and wait.”

“Why not just wait until the scheduled date?”

Moira sidestepped closer to the wall in order to let a line of guards pass by. “The longer we wait, the great the possibility that a rescue team comes for Soldier 76—or the remaining members of Overwatch scatter to the point where even he doesn’t know where they are anymore. In addition, I’ve been observing him and I believe that the prisoner is finally starting to break. Despite the fact that he has refused to answer my line of questions that would have aided the process, the time is right to proceed in my opinion.”

Reaper scoffed. “Are you even qualified for this?” He was stalling by that point, he realized. The operation they were proposing was barbaric; he had done his fair share of murder in his life, but nothing compared to what had happened to Amélie. She was a shell of who she once was, now a soulless machine only designed for killing. Even death was a better alternative, in his opinion. What good was killing someone if they were just an automated vessel void of personality? Amélie was gone, replaced with Widowmaker. If he was being honest with himself—which he rarely was—he didn't want the same to happen to Jack. To anyone.

“As a geneticist, I have a strong background in numerous sciences, including chemistry and physiology. I've read over the notes from _Operation Widowmaker,_ and I believe I am more than qualified to oversee this simple procedure.”

Simple procedure? Reaper snorted. _Simple my ass._ This process had taken Talon years to develop; hundreds of subjects before Widowmaker had either died or gone irreparably insane while the procedure was perfected. This mind alteration only seemed simple because Moira was an egotistical ass who apparently could do no wrong. She suited Talon well in that sense. “And what exactly does this ‘simple procedure’ entail?”

Moira quirked a red eyebrow at Reaper. “I gave a presentation to the board last Tuesday. Were you not in attendance?”

“Oh damn, must have missed that one.” Reaper replied, his abrasive voice oozing with sarcasm. Like he'd go to that fun fest. “Give me the summary.”

The geneticist sniffed indignantly. “Well. The short and sweet version of this is that first we would bring in Dr. Hans—you remember him—to begin the conditioning process. Through a mixed approach of operant and respondent conditioning, we will basically rewire Soldier 76’s mind to believe that his sole purpose is to serve Talon. Since we apparently cannot torture the information out of him,” Moira paused, the corners of her mouth upturned slightly, “we’ll just have him go to Overwatch instead. After he has been properly conditioned, I will step in. Since he already has adequate training, I will run a few… experiments to genetically enhance his already existing abilities.”

Reaper’s jaw tightened. “What, are you also gonna turn him into a monster?” He asked bitterly, holding up his own smoking hands.

She shrugged. “Maybe I'll give him wings, or have him breath fire. Who knows.” Moira’s smile faded when she noticed that Reaper did not appreciate her humor. “Oh, lighten up. It was merely a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

Moira carefully studied the man in front of her for several moments, chewing on her lip. “Are you not enjoying your powers, Reaper? I provided you with some of the latest breakthroughs in genetic nanotechnology.”

He snorted. “My skin feels like it's constantly being simultaneously sloughed off and ripped from my body. Going into wraith form feels like my bones are breaking. But other than that…”

The geneticist seemed genuinely disappointed. “You asked for my help. You asked me to make you stronger than Morrison, and I helped you the best way I knew how. And it exceeded even my expectations. You were happy with it, once. But I am sorry if you don't like the results."

“You’re not sorry about what happened. You got the _scientific advancement_ out of me that you needed for your research. And you're about to go do the same exact thing to that man in there.”

“A pity.” Moira pivoted on her heels to leave. “I have preparations to do for Thursday. I will talk more with you later, Reaper.”

 

\------

 

“...He's been calling for you for the past two hours!”

“What the hell does he want?”

“I don't know, he won't tell us!”

Soldier 76 was roused from his troubled sleep by the sound of muffled voices outside of his cell door. Through the window, he could see two men exchanging heated words back and forth. They were talking about him, he realized hazily. The door opened and the duo entered, stopping a couple feet in front of his slumped position on the floor.

They stood there awkwardly for several moments, Reaper tapping his foot impatiently with crossed arms. “Well?”

Soldier 76 eyed the other guard, hoping that Reaper would get the hint; he was uncomfortable talking in front of Talon’s lesser cronies. They would chatter, and eventually word would probably get to _her._ He couldn't have that. “A little privacy?” A man could hope, anyway.

Reaper hesitated, his armored arms still crossed, thinking. “...Fine. But this better be good.” He nodded at the guards, who promptly left the room. Reaper snapped his gaze back to 76. “What?”

76 frantically gave the room a once-over before slumping back into the corner. “What are they planning on doing to me?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

“What do you mean?” Reaper’s gaze fell on 76’s leg that he had broken. It was inflamed and oozing something, almost double the size it was last time Reaper saw it. He cringed at the grotesque sight of it.

“I know they're planning on doing something to me. More and more people have been coming in, questioning me. I've seen them wheeling equipment past here. This isn't standard, whatever is going on.” He coughed and lifted his head. “What is going to happen to me, Gabe?”

Reaper sighed. Jack had, admittedly, always been the more observant one out of them. Even in his weakened state he was still sharp as a tack. Shit. Reaper took a knee, leveling himself with 76. “They’re going to brainwash you.”

Soldier 76’s pale eyes widened, the color draining from his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it. His eyes searched Reaper, looking for any indication that the wraith was lying. “Oh.” The vigilante fell silent, gaze dropping to the floor. “Just like Amélie.”

Several minutes of silence stretched on between the two, with 76 continuing to stare at the floor, searching for answers.

“I have a deal for you, Jack.”

Soldier 76 slowly lifted his gaze back up to where Reaper’s eyes should be behind the starch white mask.

“Tell me where they are, and I'll see what I can do about stopping all of this.”

Soldier 76 winced, his eyes screwing shut. He drew out a long shuddered breath, coughed. Reaper made it all sound so easy. Tell him where they were and he would stop beating him, or starving him, or drowning him, or keep them from brainwashing him. Ideally he should have been dead months ago, just ended this all. He was far too old for this shit, and yet here he was. “You and I both know I can't do that. These are my comrades— _our_ comrades. The very ones that would gladly take a bullet for us.” He smirked slightly. “I can't tell you the number of times Angela brought me from the brink of death, or Ana covered my back, or Reinhardt protected me from an onslaught of bullets, or… No, Gabe. I can't betray our comrades like this.”

“They're no comrades of mine. They left me to die back in Switzerland.”

“You and I both know that's not true. Maybe you didn't see it, but I watched as that entire goddamn team mourned over us, over _you._ Wondered what drove you over the edge, what they could have done to help you before you became a terrorist.” Another fit of coughing came over 76. He growled in frustration, smacking himself on the chest in an attempt to loosen the phlegm in his lungs. “They loved you, Gabriel. I loved you.”

Reaper did his best to ignore the spew of emotional bullshit coming out of the vigilante’s mouth. “There are two options in this scenario. You tell me, and you get to live out the rest of your life here in this cell as Jack Morrison. Who knows, maybe if you behave yourself you could even work for Talon one day. You don't tell me, and you become an emotionless husk, viewing life through a pinhole in your subconscious. I’d rather you die as your old honorable self, personally. But it's your choice.”

“There's no honor in—”

“Fuck honor. Make a decision.”

Soldier 76’s mouth snapped shut in response. Neither option was particularly honorable; he would die a traitor no matter what he picked. Damn! He threw his head back into the wall, ignoring the pain that blossomed in his skull from the impact. “What the fuck do you want me to do? I…” 76 asked, to no one in particular. His expression hardened as he took a shaky breath.

“Kill me.”

Reaper narrowed his dark eyes behind the mask, focusing on the broken man in front of him. “What?”

“Kill me.” There was new determination in his pallid features. “Give me this one act of mercy.”

Reaper chuckled, a dark rumble in the back of his throat. “Have you ever known me to be particularly merciful?”

76 fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. “Once upon a time, yes. I knew a Gabriel Reyes who took pity on a scrawny scrap of a human in the Deadlock Gang, took him under his wing like his own son.” That seemed like so long ago now. He coughed. “Please, Gabe.”

The wraith paused for a brief moment, then rose from his squatting position. “No.”

The wild, frantic look returned to Jack’s eyes as fear crossed his face. “Please, Gabe! Don't let them do this to me! Kill me!” He was desperate,

“Begging doesn't suit you, Jack. Just stop.”

“If you won't, then I’ll do it myself before they can touch me!”

Reaper had no doubt that the former strike commander would actually follow up with his threat. Visions of his ex lover biting his tongue off, or bleeding out, or repeatedly beating his head into the wall clouded his vision. He shuddered, just a bit. The damn bastard took this whole honor thing way too far; Jack refused to die a traitor. Reaper looked over the man one last time before turning to leave the cell.

“N-N… Gabriel, please!” His voice was strained.

“Restrain him—arms and legs. Gagged. Chain him to the wall. I want 24/7 surveillance.” Reaper commanded the guard outside the room as he opened the door.

“Gabriel! Please!”

Reaper eventually managed to tune out the howls as he walked farther and farther away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My psychology degree is paying off in that I can reference classical and operant conditioning in my fanfiction. ._.


	8. Chapter 8

Reaper stared up at his ceiling, counting the brown water damage spots over and over, tracing their shape with his eyes.

Four spots.

He needed to tell maintenance about them before he ended up with the ceiling collapsing in on him or something in his sleep.

He couldn't sleep.

Not that he needed much sleep in the first place; that was the funny thing about having almost no metabolism anymore. His cells were already simultaneously decaying and rebuilding themselves; he didn't really need silly things like sleep anymore to repair his body. It sure was a hell of a time killer though, something he could definitely use right now. His thoughts were racing a thousand miles a minute. Reaper found that they often drifted back to Jack. 

He couldn't get that damn image of their last encounter out of his head, of Jack practically sniveling at his feet for him to kill him. That wasn't the Jack he knew. Jack didn't grovel, he didn't beg. Did he suck up sometimes? Sure. But only when it was for the better of others. Reaper remembered when Jack would come back from his meetings with the UN, exhausted. The strike commander had admitted to hating being in the public eye. But he was good at it, naturally charismatic and persuasive. Better than him in that sense. Gabriel Reyes had also hated being in the public eye. He didn't suck up like Jack did, and he didn't let people suck up to him. Where Jack was charming and friendly, he was often distant and brutally honest. Where Gabriel Reyes was the better leader, Jack Morrison was the better public figurehead. And this, despite him being more qualified than Jack, was the reason he was swept under the rug by everyone.

Reaper glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 3:12. Shit, he needed to get to bed. If not for his body then to make these damn intrusive thoughts disappear. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. A self-indulgent hobby. Reaper smoked more to calm himself down than anything. There was something relaxing about the repetitive motions, of the bright cherry ember at the end of each cigarette. Withdrawing a lighter, he lit the end and inhaled the pale smoke. McCree had introduced him to his very first cigar many years ago. “Puts hair on the chest,” he had claimed in a particularly celebratory mood one day after the two had successfully finished a mission together. 

It tasted and smelled like shit.

But once upon a time, he wasn't one to ruin a good time. So he finished the cigar. 

Afterwards he discovered that cigarettes were a much lighter (and  _ slightly _ better) alternative. Rather than sharing a cigar with McCree after a mission, he’d pull from his personal cigarette reserve instead—much to Angela’s chagrin.

Now his lungs were consistently damaging and repairing themselves, cigarette or not. Yeah, fuck you and your  _ warnings _ , Angela. 

3:25.

With a final exhale he snubbed the cigarette out on the bedside ashtray. Although they were rare, Reaper  _ hated  _ nights like this. Dwindling on the past was toxic; what was done was done. He had a new life now, one dedicated to getting revenge and seeing the downfall of every last member of Overwatch. Gabriel Reyes was dead, buried in the charred ashes of Overwatch headquarters. No, he had to let The Reaper flourish in his place. 

3:37.

Reaper sighed, collapsing back down onto the creaking mattress. He needed to get a new pillow, this one was no longer cutting it. Also needed to tell maintenance about that water damage. 

An hour passed. Sleep would not come to him. Not tonight. The wraith growled in frustration, finally chucking his pillow across the small room. 

He kept thinking about that piece of shit.

A part of him, an intentionally repressed part that was supposed to be long dead, kept rearing its ugly head. Reaper kept thinking about what they were planning on doing to their little  _ prisoner _ . There was no satisfaction in it. While Reaper would usually revel in someone else’s misery, this was somehow different. 

He kept thinking about Jack. Groveling.

No, even he didn't deserve a death like this. If Jack was going to die, it would be from his claws around his neck. Not from him breaking down in a cell like a rat in a cage.

Reaper’s body moved on a whim, throwing on the pieces of his armored uniform like clockwork, the mask going on last. He grabbed his dual shotguns from their spot on the wall and placed them in their holsters beneath his coat.

He found his were legs carrying him down the hallway towards the prison barracks.

 

\------

 

The halls were dim, the lights turned down to conserve energy. The LED bulbs hummed faintly. It was eerily quiet in the base, as if everything had come to a standstill in anticipation of what was about to come. Reaper couldn't even believe what he was about to do. It would take zero energy for him to just turn around and go to bed as if this had never happened. There would definitely be fewer consequences, that much was certain. Yet Reaper pressed on, the sound of his heavy footsteps filling the air. Since when had he ever been afraid of repercussions? 

There were only a handful of guards in the hallways guarding various rooms. He nodded to them as he passed in an attempt to remain as innocuous as possible. To pretend as if several people probably weren't going to die that morning.

In a cloud of smoke Reaper burst into wraith form and rounded the corner into an adjacent air vent. Although it wasn't his favorite means of travel, it was good for when he wanted to avoid confrontation (most of the time). Because of this, he was more familiar with the base’s ductwork and circulation system than any single person should be. As he crossed the base, Reaper could see down through the vent coverings into several different rooms; most people were asleep, unsurprisingly. Good. That meant that there would hopefully be less work for him in the end. After several moments, Reaper drifted back out of the ducts. His skin and ligaments flared with a searing pain as his human figure reformed from the mist. Christ, he would never get used to that. 

Reaper briefly poked his head around the corner. Two guards were standing there idly chatting outside of his destination. His trigger fingers itched. But he’d have to be smart about this if he was going to pull it off successfully. 

He casually walked around, as if he hadn't been standing there for several minutes. “You're both needed in C-sector,” Reaper instructed, shrugging.

The two men glanced at each other, confused. “Both of us? We’re supposed to be on duty until 5 though.”

Reaper shrugged again. “I’m just the messenger.”

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably and spoke up, his voice wavering slightly. “If we leave our post again, then—”

“I know you wouldn't want to disappoint me by not following orders, would you?”

“N-No, sir.” The two men briefly saluted before jogging off. Reaper sighed as the tension in his shoulders subsided slightly. Sometimes being feared proved to be more fruitful than being respected—something Jack could've learned a thing or two about.

He waited several moments for the two to be out of sight before looking into Soldier 76’s prison cell. The white-haired man was huddled in the corner, his forehead resting on his good knee. Reaper couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. In the end, it didn't matter. He could deal with the rude awakening as long as he got out of here.

With a deep breath, Reaper focused intently on a spot inside the cell through the glass pane and willed his body to enter. In an instant his body dissolved and was reassembling itself past the steel walls. Jack made no motion to react to the sudden intruder in his cell. Asleep probably, Reaper figured. However, as he approached the still figure, 76 languidly trailed his gaze up. He fixed Reaper with a glassy stare. 

Reaper knelt down next to the vigilante, keeping his voice to a low hush. “I’m getting you out of here. Don't you fucking say a word or I’ll break your other leg.” His newest threat, it seemed. With that, Reaper tucked a hand around 76’s waist and hoisted him onto his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. 76 was surprisingly compliant about being carried, Reaper noted. Good. He didn't trust the soldier to not be slow as shit right now. And time was of the essence if they were both going to make it out of there alive. Ideally, no one would even see them. If not, at least Reaper had a free hand for shooting. 

Making sure the coast was clear, Reaper shoved the fingertip of his glove under his mask, gripped it with his teeth, and tugged. He placed his scarred hand against the reader until it beeped cheerily and opened the door. Hastily, Reaper shoved the glove into a coat pocket and preceded down the hall. 

Reaper had seemingly walked this path a thousand times before. God willing, it’d be as unguarded as it usually was. He really didn't want to have to unnecessarily kill someone. The duo passed the holding cells and armory, towards the lesser populated rear. Reaper wished he could go into his wraith form right then. His nerves were starting to get to him—a rare occurrence. Unfortunately, the form could only carry himself short distances and definitely not the dead weight currently on his shoulders. They would have to make do on foot.

After several close calls, the two eventually made it to the eastern exit. Frantically, Reaper typed his pin code into the keypad. It flashed red. Again he put in the code, only to be greeted by the same red light. Hd cursed; he knew the code was right, unless his fucking birthdate had suddenly changed. Again, to no luck. Reaper slammed his fist into the keypad.

“Gabe?”

Shit. Reaper stiffly turned around to find Sombra standing there, still in her pajamas. Her violet eyes flicked between him and the man currently laying across his soldiers. “What's going on?” She squinted at the other man, trying to identify the face partly obscured by the wraith’s broad shoulders. “Is that… the prisoner?”

_ Shit.  _ Reaper’s brain went into overdrive, trying to think up a convincing excuse for the hacker. Some sort of alibi. In the end he resorted to what he knew, and drew a shotgun from its holster with his free hand. “Sombra. Open the door.”

The hacker stared at him, down the barrel of the shotgun, mouth agape. She drew a nervous breath. “Where are you going?”

“Not far. I’ll be back in a bit. If you can keep security off of me, anyway.”

“You know they’ll—”

“Open the fucking door!” Reaper snarled.

Sombra flinched, stepping away from the gun currently pointed at her. She pulled up a pink digital display before her. “Fine. I’ll open the door for you. But you owe me big time. I'm not bailing your sorry ass out this time.” She put in a sequence of numbers and the keypad flashed green, slowly sliding the door open. “You know they’ll find you, right? That they’ll catch on and kill you both?”

“Maybe.” Reaper readjusted the dead weight on his shoulders, causing 76 to grunt in pain. The sun was just beginning to rise above the dark skyline as Reaper set foot outside. The morning chill swept over them, the air not yet warmed by the climbing sun. 

Sombra poked her head out the door after them. “Be careful,  _ pendejo! _ ” She called before withdrawing back into the base. Her teasing smile faded. What was he thinking? If he was caught, there was no way they would take him back. Knowing Talon, they would kill him the minute they got word both that both he and the prisoner were missing. No questions asked. Sombra sighed, brows furrowed with worry. She hoped he knew what he was doing.


	9. Chapter 9

Christ, Jack was simultaneously a lot heavier and lighter than he remembered. Heavier in that Reaper had probably never carried his dead weight around for half a mile like this before; lighter in that this was also the smallest he'd ever seen him. In his prime, Jack has been the definition of a picturesque—rippling with sleek muscle, blonde, charismatic. Obnoxious. Now he was emaciated to what felt like a mere 150 pounds, muscle having atrophied to keep his starved body alive. A shame, really.

The sun had risen enough to shine in Reaper’s eyes, only slightly dimmed by the black mesh behind the eye holes in his mask. His battle plan: avoid security, get Jack far away enough from here to drag himself to safety, return to base as if nothing had happened. No one caught on, no one died, return later to kill Jack himself. It was a good idea, Reaper thought, except for the fact that the temperature was steadily rising and that he was going to get real uncomfortable in the heat real quick. The faster he could get this done and over with, the better.

Reaper shot a glance at the Talon base. From the outside it looked like a typical storage warehouse that was occasionally patrolled by guards. Better to not raise suspicion of the public eye, seeing as how it wasn't too far from the nearest city. Civilians would riot if they knew there was a Talon stronghold nearby. With a trained eye, Reaper was able to spot several security cameras attached to the outside of the wall. There was a pixelated purple halo surrounding each one, resulting in the cameras conveniently being pointed in the opposite direction of where he was headed. Reaper smirked, and continued trudging on.

After they had traveled what Reaper deemed to be an acceptable distance, he slumped Soldier 76 back to the ground. The vigilante groaned in protest at the rough treatment, sitting up to rub at his sore neck. He coughed violently.

“I got you a present,” Reaper announced. He reached under his coat to unclip a yellow biotic transmitter from one of several belts and tossed it at him. “I nabbed that from the shit we took from you. Figured you might need it.”

Soldier 76 gripped the device and stared at it dumbly, turning it over in his hands repeatedly.

“For your leg, jackass.”

The vigilante nodded slightly in response. He pulled the trigger on the device and set it down. A wave of warmth spread over him as the biotic field was emitted, engulfing him in its cheerful yellow light.

Reaper watched in interest (and slight disgust) as the tissues in 76’s leg seemingly wove themselves back together, creating a mesh of new skin, muscle, and bone over the wound. Reaper occasionally glanced at 76’s face to judge his facial expressions, his face twisted in silent pain. Eventually the leg managed to straighten itself out from its previous mangled form until the limb appeared as good as new under the sweatpants. 76 sighed in relief. Technology still managed to impress him; he would have to look into getting some of those for the rest of his men.

“Now,” Reaper commanded, looking down at Soldier 76, “get out of here.”

76 stared back up at him, wordless. His blue eyes were glassy and vacant.

“Did you hear me?” Reaper was starting to lose his patience. It wasn't every day that he offered this kind of opportunity to someone. “Go. You're free—for now. There's a city over there to the east. You can see some of the buildings from here.”

Soldier 76 laid down in the dirt.

At that moment, the sound of men shouting filled the air. Reaper shot a look over his shoulder at the Talon base, only to find a swarm of soldiers frantically searching around its perimeter.

Reaper could have screamed in frustration. At the man laying in the fucking dirt in front of him, at the current situation, at himself for thinking this was a good idea in the first place. “Get up!” Reaper whispered venomously, landing a kick to 76’s ribs. The vigilante grunted in pain but continued to stare up at the sky. “Get up or they're going to take you back!”

76 lazily turned his head to the side to gawk up at Reaper

He didn't have time for this. If they saw him here, helping the best piece of intel they’d had in years escape, there was no way Talon would take him back. This was supposed to be a simple slip in, slip out, return before anyone knew he was gone. He hadn't counted on Jack being fucking _brain dead_ or whatever the hell was happening here. Reaper eyed the Talon soldiers. They were steadily spreading out. It wouldn't be long before they saw them, even in the current low light condition.

“ _Get up!”_ Reaper was seething by this point, black smoke angrily curling around the two of them. He continued his assault on 76’s ribs, only to have the vigilante curl up on himself groaning. After a few good kicks Reaper stopped, disillusioned. “You want to stay here and get captured? Fine. Have fun getting lobotomized in there.” With a final scathing glance at the man beneath him, Reaper shadow stepped to the roof of the Talon base in a flourish of dark mist.

More shouting and running now. One of the guards had spotted something in the distance. Good, Reaper thought. That would teach him. Hopefully none of them had seen him. Might as well sit and watch the turmoil unfold; he didn't have anything better to do right now. At least more entertaining, anyway. Reaper squatted on the rooftop, gaze drifting over the horizon. His eyes fell on the form of Jack still on the ground.

Idiot.

At least nine Talon men rushed over to him, equipped in full tactical gear. Two of the men dived on top and pressed him to the ground; another man came around with handcuffs.

An uneasy feeling settled in Reaper’s gut at the sight. There was something extremely unsettling about the way Jack was letting himself be manhandled like this, silent and without resistance. Reaper took a knee, placing a hand over his eyes like a visor to shield them from the excess sun. From the roof, it looked like there was not the slightest hint of a struggle between the two factions. Absentmindedly, Reaper traced the hastily fixed fracture in his mask from when Jack had landed a kick to his face during one of their first sessions together. There’d been so much anger, so much _derisiveness_ in it. And now he was out there writhing in the dirt like a fucking _worm._ Something was wrong. This wasn't Jack. What good even was a rescue if Jack’s mind was still in there in that cell, or in the interrogation room, or lost to one of those conditioning probes or something? No, this wasn't right.

It was this kind of thinking, Reaper thought as he was already jumping off the roof of the building, that got him stuck in this predicament in the first place. The moment Reaper hit the ground he burst forward in a stream of ink-like fog. He swept over the sands leisurely, never once making contact with the ground as he closed the distance between them.

By the time he got there, the Talon operatives already had the vigilante in handcuffs and were starting to drag him away. Reaper swept under their legs and reformed behind the group, cackling. He reached out and pulled the nearest unsuspecting guard to him. Arms wrapped around the guard’s neck and with a quick _snap_ he unceremoniously fell to the ground, lifeless. Alerted to his presence, the rest of the men turned around in surprise and went to draw their assault rifles. Unluckily for them, Reaper was much faster. He drew his shotguns from their holsters and fired, quickly taking out four of the guards. Being careful to step around Jack—who was still curled up defensively—Reaper swept a leg under another and turned his fire on the man now sprawled on the ground. The blood was roaring in his ears, effectively tuning out whatever it was the other guards were shouting at him. Mostly obscenities, some screaming, Reaper mentally gathered as he turned to the remaining three men. Their rifles were raised and aimed at him. Six shots were fired: two of them pierced Reaper’s armored vest, embedding themselves in his shoulder and in the side of his abdomen; three of them found their way into the skulls of the three remaining Talon operatives. In a spray of crimson, their limp bodies fell to the ground.

Reaper surveyed the bloody scene around him with a callous eye. Nine dead. Yep, that was going to be pretty hard to explain to the higher ups. It had to be done—not that they would understand his reasoning though. Hell, even he didn't fully understand his own reasoning. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, he could feel the intensely hot pain beginning to radiate throughout his torso. The wraith snarled, throwing his shotguns to the ground in a huff. That'd probably have to be patched up; easier said than done given his current situation. He threw off his coat and took off the top layers of his uniform. Pulling out a pocket knife from his belt, Reaper cut long strips of fabric from the bottom of his coat and used them to wrap the bullet wounds. He redressed.

With a sigh, Reaper turned to see how Jack was doing; far better than he was at the moment, it seemed. He was still curled in on himself, handcuffed arms stretched out in front of him. _What a miserable looking wretch_ , Reaper thought. He stooped down to pat at the deceased guards’ pockets until he found the key to the cuffs. He quickly undid the metal binding around Jack’s wrists.

“Get up. I'm in no condition to carry you right now.”

He was met with a resounding grunt from the other man.

Jesus fucking Christ. It was like caring for an infant. Reaper glanced over his shoulder at the Talon base. They probably heard the gunfire. It wouldn't be long before backup arrived. And it still seemed as if Jack wasn't going to make any attempt at actually moving. Great.

Stepping back over the bodies, Reaper scooped up the vigilante. He grimaced in pain, bullet hole in his side being agitated, as he threw Jack over his good shoulder and set off towards town

 

\------

 

Castillo was a small town, only a short walk away from Dorado’s bay. Many individuals of questionable repute—namely a deadly faction of Los Muertos—called the sunny locale their home. Despite the town’s welcoming appearance, it housed a number of heavily graffitied bars and drug lounges. Here, nobody really cared who you were or where you came from as long as you minded your own business. For that, Reaper often chose to come here over the much more populated city of Dorado.

Dr. Banderas was one of the last respectable men left in the town. His office was above a small family-owned shop at the corner of the town. A frail soft-spoken man in his 70s, Reaper often chose to visit him over the Talon-provided doctors. At least this guy wasn't mandated to report every single visit and malady to his higher ups like _they_ were. A small comfort in a world where everything he did was scrutinized.

“So he’s been catatonic like this for the past day or so, you said?” Dr. Banderas questioned, tying off the last of the stitches in Reaper’s shoulder.

Reaper grimaced at the feeling of his skin being tugged. “Yeah. Maybe longer, I'm not sure. He was like this when I found him though.” He was conflicted if he should tell the good doctor about the whole brain-washing thing. It’d be hard to describe without sounding like a conspiracy theorist. And he had told Banderas about some pretty crazy things. “May be some kind of brain thing. Or something.”

“Well,” the doctor began, wheeling over to the other man sitting in an adjacent chair, “it’d be hard to say for certain without doing a brain scan–something my office does not have the resources for, unfortunately. However, I could refer your friend here to another hospital, if you'd like.”

“No thanks, doc. Trying to stay on the down-low for a bit.”

“Ah.” The older man shot Reaper a knowing-yet-disapproving glance, but continued to prod at Jack. “His vitals appear normal, fortunately. Has he experienced any sort of trauma recently?”

“You could say that.”

“Ah. I won't pry for the details, but it's normal for patients to experience dissociative episodes after a traumatic experience.”

If only it were that simple, Reaper thought, watching Jack idly play with the stethoscope around the doctor’s neck. Where exactly on the trauma spectrum did attempted mind control lie?

“Give him a couple of days to gather himself. If it seems there is no improvement, I highly recommend taking him to at least a psychiatrist if you won't take him to another hospital.”

_Dump him off at the doors. Got it._ “Alright.” Reaper hopped off of the exam table and went to put on the rest of his clothes.

“As for yourself, make sure you keep those wounds clean. Change the dressing as needed. Bedrest—if that's humanly possible for you.” He lowered his glasses to glare at the wraith. “I’ll get the antibiotics in later today. Do you need a refill on the nanocodeine?”

“Please.” Reaper slid the alabaster mask back over his face and walked over to Jack. “Thanks for patching us up today, doc.”

“My pleasure. Please take better care of yourself, Gabriel.”

“You got it.” With that, Reaper scooped down to throw a catatonic Jack back over his shoulder, despite the doctor’s disparaging _tsks._ “C’mon, boy scout.”

 

\------

 

Everything was foggy.

It was as if he was viewing life through a pinhole. Nothing made sense. The stuff that did make sense took all of his concentration to comprehend, exhausting him further.

“...It was our first year in the SEP, I think? And you hid an entire raw chicken in my locker…”

His head was spinning. What was happening? He could see fine, but it was as if nothing was connecting to his brain anymore. Seeing and hearing, but not comprehending. This had been going on for an what felt like an eternity.

“...When we first met Reinhardt…”

His eyes were closed. He could feel the cool sensation of something under him, something on top of him. There was something propping his head up. He needed to leave. Had to get back to Talon. They were missing him. They would hurt him again if he didn't. Had to finish therapy so he could be happy again.

“...Omnic crisis…”

Jack opened his eyes, just a bit. The world was blurry and out of focus. It took him several moments before he could recognize anything—shapes, colors, light. They came together to make the picture of a room. He was in bed. There was sunlight coming through the window—daytime. Someone else was in the room with him. The other bed.

“...Brought Fareeha in to visit. You were furious with her because she drew a dog on your paperwork with pink crayon. Ana just laughed...”

He didn't recognize these names. Did he know these people? He needed to go back to Talon. Colorful pinpoints of light danced behind his eyes.

“...Found him in the Deadlock Gang…”

Jack turned his head to focus better on the other person in the room. Did he know him? His voice was dark, frightening. What was he talking about? He stopped his conversation when he noticed he was looking at him. Smiled. He kept talking. Jack didn't listen this time.

 

\------

 

Jack awoke with a start. Damn, how long had he been asleep? It felt like months. His back was hurting from the mattress and his throats was painfully dry. Groggily, he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. 4:05 PM. Well, there went a day. He glanced around the room, only to find that he didn't recognize any of his surroundings. It looked like a hotel room of sorts, but he didn't remember booking a room anywhere. The last thing he remembered was that he had been—

Shit.

Jack shot out of his bed like he'd been shot, only to instantly regret it. A sharp migraine-like pain exploded at the front of his head, sending him sprawling back into his bed. Nothing was making sense. Why was he here? Was this still in the Talon base? He didn't understand!

The vigilante scooted to the edge of the bed and cupped his head between his hands.

He needed an Ibuprofen. Or a double shot of whiskey.

The last thing that Jack remembered was that he was still in a prison cell. There was a struggle, but he didn't remember what for. The geneticist was there. And then he woke up here. His migraine seemingly worsened every time he tried to remember the missed time. He glanced down at his leg. It had been broken before, the bone jutting out just below the knee. But now it looked almost as good as new, save for the angry purple bruise that covered about half of his leg. Tentatively, he stepped down and put light weight on it, only to instantly recoil away; it was still _very_ tender.

“The doctor said that’ll need more time to heal.”

Jack shot up from his bed again at the intrusive voice in the room, instantly regretted it again. His eyes shot to the corner of the room, trying to find the source of the sound. By the doorway stood Reaper, arms crossed in front of his chest. He tilted his head slightly. Jack could feel his blood pressure already dropping, his heart rate rapidly accelerating in compensation. In a blind panic, he grabbed the alarm clock from the table, held it between them poised and ready to throw. He backed away to the edge of the bed.

Reaper laughed lowly. “Like a scared little puppy. Now that's what I like to see.” He uncrossed his arms, threw his hands up in surrender instead. “Glad to see you're finally awake though. I was bored to tears.”

Jack lowered the alarm clock, but didn't move from his spot. He didn't have the will or even the strength to fight right now, but he wouldn't let him know that. Not when he was vulnerable and exposed like this.

“Mind if I take a seat? I suppose you have questions.”

To be honest, he kind of minded. He was in a dirty pair of sweatpants and he could smell the stench of sweat and grime on himself from not having showered in weeks (months?). His head hurt too much to try and be civil with the terrorist, yet he did have hundreds of questions for him. Jack didn't say anything, but instead nodded at the bed across from him. “Where are we?” Jack rasped. His throats was dry and the words felt foreign on his lips.

“Castillo. More specifically, a motel in Castillo.” Reaper stalked over to the bed and sat down.

The vigilante blinked. Castillo? “So we’re not…?” He coughed violently.

“Nope. Broke you out of there about a week ago.”

“Why did you…” All of this was making Jack’s head hurt even more. It didn't make sense. Why would a Talon figurehead of all people break him out? “Why?”

Reaper shrugged. “Good question. I don't fully know myself. Don't get any ideas though; you're still on my shit list, Morrison. This changes nothing between us.”

Jack nodded. He didn't know what he had been expecting, honestly. That was a perfectly normal response for Gabriel. He'd always been vague. “Alright, last question for now, I guess; I have a splitting headache and want to go back to bed. While I was, uh, unconscious, what happened exactly? I have no recollection of what happened recently.”

Reaper chuckled and placed his hands on his spread legs, as if preparing to tell a long story. “A lot happened. It's kind of a fun story, actually. Extremely degrading for you, though.” The wraith proceeded to tell the man opposite him exactly what had happened since when he blacked out in his prison cell: of Talon’s almost successful attempt at brainwashing him, of their escape, of the time Reaper killed several guards single-handedly while Jack rolled in the dirt (he made sure to emphasize that aspect), of their arrival in Castillo.

Jack took it all in, slightly slack-jawed at how much he had missed. He had no recollection of any of it, not even of Talon reconditioning him. He was most impressed by all of the effort that Gabe had gone through to get him here, even going so far as to spend his own money on rooms. From what he had gathered about Reaper from their past few encounters, he wasn't the kind to indulge in such niceties. Gabriel maybe, but not Reaper. Maybe there was hope for him yet. “So what's your plan now, now that you're possibly on Talon’s naughty list?”

“Honestly, I don't know. Haven’t thought about it much.”

A small piece of hope lit up in the vigilante. “Have you thought maybe joining up with Ana and I? There's a lot of shady stuff happening nowadays, and we'd welcome the extra help.”

Reaper chuckled and shook his head incredulously, rising up from the bed. “There's clothes and antibiotics for you on the dresser; apparently your little healing device doesn't work on infections. Checkout’s tomorrow at 9. Don't charge up my credit card.” With that, Reaper sidestepped around the bed and turned to leave.

“Gabe, wait.”

He stopped.

“Thanks for uh, all this.” Jack ran a shaking hand through his silver hair. Honestly, he didn't fully know why he was thanking him. It was because of him that he had ended up in that situation in the first place, that he was tortured for weeks on end. “Thanks for not letting them take me.”

Reaper nodded slightly. “If I see you again, I'm not leaving until one of us is dead.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments so far! I <3 all of you!


	10. Chapter 10

Jack scrutinized himself in the steamy bathroom mirror. 

He looked like shit. 

His time in captivity had not been kind to him. His normal grey stubble had begun to grow into a patchy beard, and his face was no longer of the lean vigilante who had gone in with the mindset of dismantling Talon. The mirror showed a man who looked tired and defeated. Heavy bags hung under his eyes, and his face looked more gaunt than he had ever seen it. He almost didn’t recognize his reflection in the mirror, except for the blue eyes staring back at him. He hated the person he saw. Fed up with looking at himself, Jack finished toweling off his damp hair and flung the towel at the mirror. It landed with a soft thud..

It was already two in the morning, and Jack was having a hell of a time falling asleep. He blamed the fact that he had been asleep for a solid four days, yet he was still so tired—physically and mentally. If he had the time, he felt like he could have slept for  _ anothe _ r four days. But check-out was at 9 o’clock and he wasn’t going to be  _ that guy  _ to the man who had shown him mercy when he deserved none. 

As to what his next plan of action was, Jack honestly had no idea. He knew he had to get back to Ana, that much was certain. Knowing her, she was probably worried sick about him—with good reason. But he didn’t know exactly  _ how  _ he was going to get back to her. Hopefully she hadn’t moved on since he’d been imprisoned. And it also wasn’t as if he was in the best health of his life. Plain and simple, he felt weak. The buildup of muscle he’d had had all but wasted away. His current physique reminded him of how he looked back in Indiana, before he had decided to get into shape and join the army: scrawny. And he still had a hell of a limp. Tomorrow—later that day now—he would definitely need to sit down and work on an action plan. 

Jack grabbed the clothes Gabriel had left out for him on the dresser. A black t-shirt and grey sweatpants—Gabe’s staple outfit back during their SEP days, Jack reflected with a tinge of sad nostalgia. The vigilante wondered if these had come from Gabe’s own personal collection or whether or not he had gone out and bought these. Either way, should he be honored? He threw on the clothes and went back to bed in the hopes of getting at least five hours of sleep. He was going to have a big day tomorrow. 

Not more than ten minutes had passed before the sound of gunshots roused Jack from a troubled sleep. Instinctually, he reached for his pulse rifle at his back, only to be disappointed when his hand grabbed air. Who was firing a gun at three in the morning? He knew that this area had had problems with gang violence for a while now; it was part of the reason he had come out here in the first place. He just wished that Los Muertos didn't have to shoot each other up while he was trying to sleep! 

More gunshots. They sounded close. A shrill woman’s scream followed.

Now he was definitely up. The adrenaline began coursing through his veins as Soldier 76 began scanning the room for something he could use as a weapon, anything. Of course Gabe hadn't left him a gun, that'd be asking too much. His pale eyes fell on a lamp sitting on the dresser beside him. It wasn't the most practical weapon, but it would have to make due. Scooting over, he tore it from the wall and cast the lampshade aside, brandishing it like a club. Good, he thought. He'd been itching for a fight. He needed to redeem himself—mostly  _ to  _ himself. Needed to feel like a man, someone who didn't have to rely on the pity of others.

Soldier 76 threw open the door to his room just in time to witness four Talon operatives shooting a sobbing Hispanic woman. With a final strangled cry, she slumped to the ground in a splatter of blood, onto the corpse of a different man. Her husband, 76 guessed, before noticing the shaking in his hands, his body. He dropped the lamp with a loud clatter. One of the guards, alerted by the noise, turned around and made direct eye contact with him. 

Jack immediately retreated back into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. He slumped clumsily against it, his normal finesse gone. He drew his hands up to his face, observed them. At some point he had broken into a cold sweat, sending a wave of chills down his body. He had to get out of here. They were going to take him back! 

He couldn't breath. They were going to take him back! The couple outside was dead and it was all because of him because Talon had come to find him and take him back to the prison cell and they were going to torture and hurt him even more when they found out that he had escaped. It wasn't his fault! He didn't ask to be rescued, didn't ask for any of this!

There were more gunshots. They sounded as if they were right outside the door this time, firing off one after another. More screams belonging to more men. How he hoped more civilians weren’t dying; he'd never forgive himself. Something heavy thudded against the door, followed by the rapid rattling of the door handle. Jack felt like he was going to faint, as if he was on Death Row. Everything was too hot and too cold all at the same time. They were going to take him away again. 

“God damn it, Morrison!”

There was more thumping against the door before it suddenly stopped. A few moments of tense silence passed, before Jack noticed that a black fog had begun passing under the door and into the room. He yelped, and dragged himself away until his back was touching the back wall. 

A dark figure formed from from the mist. It was Reaper, brandishing a pair of heavy shotguns. His usual uniform was splattered with crimson blood, a sharp contrast to the black leather beneath. He was panting heavily. “What the fuck are you doing? We need to leave!” 

Jack chose to ignore the man in front of him, electing to curl up tighter into himself instead. His lungs felt like they were going to explode. If Gabriel was going to kill him as he had promised earlier, he wished he would hurry up and get it over with. 

Reaper was staring down at him as he rocked back and forth like a child. “Come on! There's more outside!” Rather than waiting on him, Reaper stooped down and hooked his arms under Jack’s arms and knees. Remembering to grab Jack’s antibiotics—his sole possession at the moment—Reaper forcefully kicked down the door, vigilante in tow. 

Jack looked up at the man who was carrying him bridal style. This was embarrassing as hell, Jack thought, his breathing ragged. Not only was his own mind or body not listening to him, but now he was having to be rescued yet again by someone who hated him. He was a sorry excuse for a soldier, and a sorry excuse for a man. “Don't let them take me back, Gabe,” Jack blurted out weakly, reaching up to grasp the lapel of Reaper’s jacket. He was more than aware of how pathetic it sounded coming from his own lips. 

‘“Shut up! I need to think!” Rather than going out the front door of the building, Reaper took a right down the hallway towards the side entrance. He pushed it open with his shoulder and burst outside into the night. 

Jack found himself shuddering harder at the sudden contact with the chill air. Two guards were already stationed outside of the exit, rifles raised at the door. They shouted something, but Jack couldn't understand them over the roar of blood in his ears. Before he knew it he was being thrown back over Reaper’s shoulder into a fireman’s carry as the wraith pulled out his shotguns. Jack yelped, throwing his arms around Reaper’s neck to keep from being thrown to the ground as Reaper ran past the guards, matching the oncoming assault of bullets with his own. Two direct shots to the face later and the guards were dead. 

“No doubt the others are on their way here. We need to leave,” Reaper panted.

The vigilante wanted to protest, wanted Gabriel to leave him here so that he could sit down and sort through whatever the hell was happening with his body right now. He didn't want to be carried; he was ashamed enough already. Yet Reaper was already jogging away from the motel and its tacky neon vacancy sign, leaving him with little room to protest. Jack took the time to work on slowing his breathing, focusing on the breath as it entered and left his body. It was a trick they had taught him back during his army days. In the middle of the battlefield, it was important to be able to calm your frazzled nerves so you didn't lose it. Probably one of the more practical things they had taught him.

Reaper took him to the edge of the city that overlooked Dorado Bay. An old fort, the rocky overlook had been used by troops to spot water-based assaults. Now it was merely a scenic overlook that people used to watch the sunset. A set of stone stairs led down to the shore. Stepping carefully down the ocean-misted staircase, Reaper carried 76 along the bank into a small indentation in the side of the cliff. Jack quickly recognized it as a Los Muertos hangout. The walls were heavily graffitied in an array of colorful words and tags. Half-finished cigarettes and discarded litter lined the outer edge of the sandy floor. The smell of damp paper products mangled with the sea breeze, creating the unpleasant stench of salt and rot. It wasn’t the most appealing of places, but at least it was something. He’d definitely hid in worse before. Reaper swept a steel-toed boot from side to side to clear an area of empty soda cans before tossing Jack back down. The vigilante grunted as he accidentally sat down on a Coke can anyway.

Slowly but surely, he was starting to feel better. It was nice, albeit humiliating as hell, being grounded by another person—no matter who it was. Gabriel was there and physical and made contact with him, allowing Jack to focus on him rather than the intrusive thoughts swarming in his head. The thoughts had, for the most part, ceased by the time he was sitting down in the cave, leaving him cold and shaking and wanting to sleep for another 20 hours in the aftermath. 

Despite the protest of his leg, Jack drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, wrapping his arms around his legs. He felt small, insignificant. Nothing like the vigilante on the top of his game from five months ago. God, what Gabriel must think of him now. Their first real encounter in years, and he was a bearded hyperventilating mess that broke down at the mere sight of Talon soldiers. He could feels his shoulders beginning to heave before he noticed the sting of tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over onto the sand-dusted floor.

“I’m sorry…” Jack stammered. He didn’t know what for. But an apology felt necessary. He refused to pull his head from his knees to see Gabriel’s reaction. The wraith would probably sneer at him, bite out a scathing remark about him being weak. Not that he’d be wrong. 

“Hey.”

A hand briefly touched his shoulder before quickly being pulled away. 

“Jack—”

The soldier lifted his head slightly at the mention of his name. His eyes were red and puffy, but he could see that Reaper was looking at him, unreadable behind the mask. Jack wished he could tell what he was feeling, whether it be condescension, malice, pity, or a mix in between.

“Uh, it’ll be alright.” said Gabriel, in an attempt to sound comforting despite the coarseness of his voice. His voice rose in intonation at the end of the sentence—almost a question, as if he didn’t fully believe what he was saying either. He squatted down beside Jack, his hands resting casually on his knees. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll move once the sun sets.”

“We’ll?”

“Yeah. Clearly you’re in no condition to take care of yourself, and I don’t want this whole thing to be for nothing. Besides, it’s not like I have many other options at the moment.”

It was definitely pity that Reaper was feeling right now. A rare emotion on him. The last time Jack could distinctly remember Gabe pitying someone was with McCree, the scrappy teenager who had gotten mixed up in the wrong gang. It was that pity though, Jack supposed, that turned the boy around for the better. Gabriel had two weak spots, apparently: children and broken old men. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t. You’ll just have to trust me,” Reaper retorted. “But if I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a while ago. If that helps any.”

“Mm.” Jack scooted backwards until his back was pressed against the wall of the cave, bringing his knees up again. He wished he had his pulse rifle—or anything, really. Not that he necessarily thought he’d have to use it against the wraith, but as comfort. His body longed for the rifle’s reassuring weight in his hands.

Jack rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and drew in a shaky breath in an attempt to stabilize himself. He looked over at Reaper, who was currently picking flecks of dried blood from his coat. What was he planning? Surely he had better things to do—people to kill—than to hang around him. To be honest, he didn’t trust the man. Once upon a time he’d have trusted him with his life. But far too much time had passed since their days together in Overwatch, and they were both walking entirely different paths of life now. However, he’d had a point when he’d talked about the whole already being dead thing. 

No, he still couldn’t trust him. 

Soldier 76 drew his attention to the waves lapping onto the shore outside of the little cave. 

 

\------

 

Sombra stretched, untucking herself from her sheets with a yawn. She'd slept horribly; five hours was not long enough to get any decent amount of beauty sleep. At least she finally had been able to fall asleep though, she supposed. She'd been up far past her bedtime worrying about Gabe and his new (old?) friend. 

What had he been thinking? If Gabe thought that he could escape Talon—the largest terrorist group of its time—then he had another think coming. It was a stupid and reckless idea, one very unlike the Reaper she knew. He was a meticulous planner, the kind that had to work out every step of a plan before rushing in. It was this mindset that made him the best operative in the organization, in her humble opinion. Next to herself, of course. Sombra had only been in Talon for a relatively short amount of time, yet she had never met someone as thorough as Gabe. It was admirable, honestly. What a stupid, stupid man! What was he going to do without Talon’s resources? She'd seen the way he'd casually discard his guns, choosing to toss them away rather than reloading them in the midst of battle—much to the chagrin of Talon’s budget. Clearly he was not used to saving money. Yet he was going to care for  _ two  _ people? Stupid. 

Sombra had been lucky when she had betrayed Talon, that no one knew about her new friend in Volskaya Industries and the fact that that mission had failed because of her. Well, she had a suspicion that Gabe knew. But he knew about what would happen if he ever ratted her out. She didn't take him as the kind to care much, anyway—another  _ oh that Sombra!  _ kind of thing. Besides, Talon needed her, much more than she needed them. Gabe knew this. Talon knew this. And that was why they let her get away with so much crap. Gabe, on the other hand. He was disposable. Just another hired gun that happened to have ghost abilities. For the right price, that weird geneticist could probably make Talon a new operative that could turn into smoke stuff. And that was why Sombra worried about him. They’d kill both him and the prisoner without a second thought. Maybe not the prisoner; he was still useful. But they'd definitely kill the disposable operative who had betrayed them. 

After several minutes of just contemplating in bed, Sombra decided to finally hop up and start her day for the second time. She threw on her uniform and plopped right back down onto her bed with her laptop. She typed in a few lines of code and pulled up a hidden interface. It was a map of the area, with a small red blip. The red blip was Gabe. She'd stuck a tracker into his jacket when he had left the base about a week ago. Just to keep an eye on him, y’know? It wasn't fair for him to worry her like this. The map currently showed that he was on the outskirts of Castillo. Good, Sombra thought. At least he should be safe there for a bit. 

Sombra closed her laptop and slid it back under her bed. It was going to be a great day. Any day where she could bask in Moira’s misery was a gift in and of itself. It made all of the questioning she had to sit through worth it. No doubt she was a huge suspect right now. _Why wasn’t there anything on the security footage? How did they get through the door? Sombra, why can’t you solve all of our problems?_ Whenever things went wrong, blame was usually put on her first. Just because she was in charge of a lot of aspects of security. Oh well, Sombra thought. She was used to it. She was basically an expert at talking her way out of stuff by now. 

It was hell outside of her room. Talon guards were rushing every which way in the halls, grumbling to one another about what they needed to get done that day. Sombra shot them a sympathetic glance as she brushed pass them. It was days like today that made her glad that she was of a higher rank in Talon and wasn't a lackey or a soldier or whatever is was they called themselves to feel important. She wasn't made for grunt work anyway. Too boring. Too little control. 

Sombra found that the dining hall (more like a dingy break room where you could order food) was already bustling with activity. One of the soldiers slipped past her in a hurry, a bagel gripped between his teeth as he slung his gear back on. Following his lead, Sombra ordered a blueberry bagel and a cup of fruit from the service counter. Tray in hand, she looked for a place to sit. Most of the tables already had people sitting at them. A shame. The weird geneticist was sitting by herself at a small square table, pouring over paperwork with what looked like the biggest cup of coffee she had ever seen in hand. She looked super busy and somewhat frustrated with what she was reading. It was probably for the best that she bother her.

“Hey Aunt Moira!” Sombra called cheerily, plopping her tray down rather loudly across from the scientist. 

“I'm working,” Moira replied dryly, never once looking up from her stack of papers.

“Cool, cool. Me too. I was going to get to work on this bagel!” With that, Sombra flopped down into the plastic chair by her tray and sighed dramatically. “So what's the news? It seems pretty hectic today.” She had a strong feeling about exactly what the news was, but sometimes it was nice to hear it from other people’s perspectives. Also the whole  _ feigning innocent  _ thing. That was important. 

“If you had woken up two hours ago like you were supposed to, you’d have been able to make it to the meeting.”

“ _ Lo siento _ . Didn't sleep well.” It wasn't a lie.

Moira sighed and fixed Sombra with a blue-and-brown-eyed glare. “There have been reports that Reaper and the prisoner were spotted together in Castillo. A squad was sent out to investigate, but we have yet to hear back from them.”

_ Because they’re probably dead,  _ Sombra thought to herself. Gabe wasn’t a fan of being followed, much less being  _ hunted down _ —not that she ever obeyed his wishes, but still. “I used to work out of Castillo. It’s a small town, but there are a lot of gangs there. Some of which aren’t too fond of Talon.” Sombra paused, and glanced at the LED screen hanging from the wall. A news station was reporting on a burglary that had happened last night in El Dorado. She turned her gaze back to the geneticist, giving her an earnest look. “What do you think Reaper is up to, Moira?”

Moira finally set her pen down onto the stack of papers and turned her attention to Sombra. “Worried about him, are you?”

Sombra scoffed. “Pfft, no. I just wanted to hear what you thought about all of this!”

“Defensive.” Moira steepled her fingers in contemplation, her talon-like nails coming together in long purple points. “Honestly, I think he’s been planning this little stint for a while now.”

“You think he was the one that broke out the prisoner?”

“I know he was. He was the only one that was against his reconditioning, and it’s just too perfect that they would go missing together a few days into the operation. It’s also quite odd,” Moira straightened in her chair, “that there’s no security footage whatsoever of the two leaving the base. You wouldn’t have any thoughts on that, would you?”

She was accusing  _ her  _ of messing with the security footage? Ugh, the nerve of some people! “Look, lady, I have a strict rule in my line of work. And it’s that I don’t wake up before ten o’clock for anything. You’re forgetting that Ga–Reaper is, like, part ghost. So that’s something to consider.”

“How could I forget?”

“So maybe they just ghosted out of here. Who knows.” She shrugged. “But no, I don’t like being accused of stuff I didn’t even have a hand in, and it’s kind of ruining my bagel experience. So I’m gonna leave and let you get back to whatever it is you do. Paperwork and stuff.”

Sombra quickly downed the rest of her fruit cup and shot it off-the-rim into the recycling bin. With a small departing wave and her bagel in hand, she headed back to her room. She had work to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Reaper is absolute garbage at consoling people because it doesn't involve murder or sick one-liners


	11. Chapter 11

Jack had passed out sometime in the past two hours. Thank god. He’d put up a good fight, refusing to lower his defenses and just go to bed, but eventually his exhaustion had gotten the better of him and he conked out against the stone wall. His neck was craned backward at what looked like an uncomfortable angle, mouth agape, with the most atrocious snoring Reaper had ever heard. Reaper was tempted to smother him in his sleep—anything to stop that godforsaken noise. If nothing else had tipped Talon off of their location, then the noise that was coming from the cave would. Or scare them off if they mistook it for a bear.

Reaper sat on a wooden crate that’d been left behind, staring out at the sea as the sun quickly approached it. He’d have to wake Jack up soon; they couldn’t afford to waste too much time here. He glanced back at 76, who was still happily snoring away. He almost felt bad waking him up.

Almost.

Reaper wondered how differently things would turn out if he just left him here and took off. He’d definitely be able to cover more ground that way without having to worry about another person. Jack would probably be fine, as long as he didn’t run up to Talon and beg them to take him back—which wouldn’t surprise him based on his past behavior. Reaper reflected back on Jack’s little meltdown from earlier. Nothing like a bit of PTSD to liven things up, right? That had to have been what had happened earlier. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen Jack in years, he wasn’t the kind to just lay down, give up, and start crying.

That little stint had been incredibly awkward for him to watch. The human part of him longed to reach out and comfort the man. Yet the part of him that had been hurt and betrayed longed to see him suffer, insisting that Jack deserved everything that had happened to him. It saw him as weak for being controlled by his fears. Reaper had never suffered from his trauma; he had grown from it, turned it into a learning experience: trust no one, as they’ll only hurt you in the end. Yet that damned voice in the back of his head kept insisting that none of this was Jack’s fault, that greater men than him had been broken before. This was not a sign of weakness, but an opportunity to rebuild.

Reaper wanted to wipe that voice from existence.

Jack was weak, and he was the stronger one.

Yet why was he still here?

There was the sudden noise of chatter outside of the cave. Reaper rapidly rose to his feet, pulling his shotguns from their holsters.

A group of six laughing men started to enter the cave, then stopped suddenly when they laid eyes on the armed terrorist. They had colorful skulls painted on their faces. Reaper immediately recognized them as members of Los Muertos. _Shit._ In an instant, both sides had their guns out and pointing at one another. The gang members were young, looking no older than 17.

“ _¿Qué estás haciendo en nuestro escondite?”_ One of the boys stammered out, as if taken by surprise.

“ _Estábamos a punto de irnos.”_ Reaper’s Spanish was rusty, not having been practiced in a while, yet he hoped that they got the point. He really didn’t feel like blowing kids’ brains out today.

Several tense moments passed, neither side taking action. The boy who had spoken up earlier looked behind Reaper at the man who was still asleep in the back. He seemed to relax at the realization that Reaper wasn’t going to immediately kill him. “¿ _Qué es esto? ¿Un hombre viento durmiendo en nuestro escondite?”_ He sneered. _“¡Maricones!_ ” The rest of the gang laughed with him.

Okay, maybe he did feel like hurting a kid today. Reaper aimed a shotgun at the boy’s foot and pulled the trigger, sending him sprawling backward in a slurry of blood and obscenities. The rest of the group gasped in unison as they watched their friend gape at his half-missing foot in horror. In his defense, the little shit deserved it. “I said, _nos vamos._ ” Reaper raised his voice, never lowering his gun from the rest of the group. “Jack!”

Soldier 76 snorted awake somewhere behind him.

“Out the door. _Now.”_ Reaper didn’t dare to take his eyes off of the group. Two had dropped down to help their friend while the remaining three were still pointing guns at him. He had dealt with Los Muertos before. They were cowards, but they weren’t afraid to play dirty when the opportunity arose. The most intimidating part about them was their numbers; Reaper wouldn’t be surprised if half the damn city was involved with the gang.

Jack groggily mumbled something under his breath before he let out a sudden yelp of surprise at the sight before him. In an instant he was pushing himself up off of the floor and hobbled towards the entrance. Despite his hatred for the violent gang, Jack knew to pick and choose his fights; this was not one he could win right now. Reaper followed behind, his shotguns pointing at the three boys until they were out of the cave and a safe distance away.

“What the hell happened?” Jack asked, genuinely confused.

“What does it look like? You dozed off and a gang showed up.”

“A kid was bleeding—“

“I shot him.”

“Ah.”

Several moments of silence passed between them.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep, you know.”

“I know.”

“Alright.” Another moment of silence, then, “Where are we going?”

“You tell me, Morrison.”

“Can we sit down and figure out a plan—“

“Nope. Gotta keep moving.” Reaper scanned the horizon. Luckily, there were no people out on the beach that night, one of the advantages of having a chillier evening. Jack was behind him, struggling to keep up with his limp. He fell farther and farther behind as Reaper refused to slow down for him. “Can’t you hobble any faster?”

“Can’t you walk any slower? I’m not a young man anymore.”

“I thought that miraculous yellow device of yours was supposed to fix your leg.” Reaper was genuinely curious about the mechanics of the device.

76 thought for a moment. “It heals most types of tissue, but not bone. Too dense for whatever the healing component is in it to get through. My leg will just have to heal on its own.”

“ _Great.”_ They were never going to get anywhere. If Reaper had been able to foresee this, he never would have crushed his leg in the first place. But he had deserved it, anyway, so that was that. “Have you thought about where to yet?

“A bit, yeah.”

“Where?”

Jack stopped in his tracks. He had to think about the implications of this. Gabriel made it sound as if he was coming _with him._ That wouldn’t do, especially if he was going to go find Ana. While he would have liked to catch up with Reyes, he couldn’t risk Ana’s life like that. The whole reason he had been tortured in the first place was so Talon could get the locations of the remaining Overwatch members. And as far as he was concerned, Gabriel was still very much a part of Talon. If Gabriel followed him, he would be leading him straight to her—two birds with one stone for Talon. 76 replied slowly and deliberately, “Why do you want to know?”

“So that I know where the hell I’m walking to!”

“You know what I mean, Gabriel.”

Reaper whipped around to face the other man. “What are you implying?”

Jack crossed his arms. He was starting to lose his temper. “I’m implying that I can’t tell you where I’m going.”

“I know you’re going to see Ana.” Reaper growled, “You don’t trust me. Is that it?”

76 ignored his baiting. “Not long ago you were torturing me for information so that you could kill our comrades—“

“They’re not my comrades—“

“Shut up. Before that, you assaulted Ana and me in Giza. That was you, wasn’t it? And on top of all that you’re a wanted terrorist. And you think I can just trust you to come with me?”

Reaper was fuming by this point, black smoke angrily curling around him. What had happened to the broken and malleable man from earlier? Jack hadn’t dared to talk back like this since he was rescued. Maybe he _was_ right, but what right did Jack have to just spit in his face like that after all he’d done for him? He always had been ungrateful. “You won’t survive out here without me. You need me, Jack Morrison.”

“Maybe, but I’m willing to take my chances. It’s clear that you don’t need me. Yet you’re still insistent on following me.”

“You—“ Reaper was seeing red, every particle of his body telling him to _kill, kill, kill._ How dare he suggest that he was doing him anything but a favor by hanging around him!

The wraith pulled a shotgun and aimed for 76’s head.

He didn’t flinch, just keep that fucking disgusting look of knowing _disappointment_. Reaper wanted to blow that look off of his face, splatter his skull into a million pieces so he’d never have to look at his judgmental face again! Watch his blood paint the sand red, his body be swept away by the sea!

Reaper snarled in frustration at the man, his index finger tensing over the trigger. Why was this so fucking hard? He’d killed for lesser offenses than this before! Jack was just standing there motionless, looking as smug as ever. This was the perfect chance. Yet why couldn’t he do it?!?

Reaper tossed his gun to the ground with a loud growl. Fuck this! “What do I have to do to get you to trust me? I risked my life breaking you out of there, killed my own men, took you to the doctor, put you in a hotel for a _week.”_ Reaper was more than aware that he was yelling at this point, but he didn’t care. _“_ I’ve saved your life multiple times now. What more do you want from me, Morrison?!?”

“Your trust.”

His response threw Reaper off guard. He had been expecting some hot-headed response in return. Yet Jack sounded perfectly calm. “What?”

“I don’t think we’ve fully trusted one another since you were appointed to Blackwatch—“

“Don’t—“

“And it’s at its absolute worse right now. If I’m to trust you, I need you to trust me.”

That was the fucking _leader_ part of Morrison talking, Reaper thought bitterly. The commander. Talking to him as if he was still under his orders. It was laughable, really. Reaper crossed his arms, mirroring 76’s pose. “And how do I do that?” he sneered.

“You can start by tearing down some of these goddamn walls,” 76 retorted, gesturing to Reaper. “This whole death persona—that’s not you. I want to talk to the actual Gabriel Reyes. I want to know what you’ve been up to these past years while we all thought you were dead.”

“Fuck you,” Reaper spat. “You killed Gabriel Reyes, remember? He was left to burn under rubble.”

“Nobody could find you! By the time we managed to clear up the debris you were gone.”

“For 24 hours I was under there, Jack. Yet you want me to open up to you like everything is fucking dandy. You need to learn to let go of the past.” Reaper bent down to grab his gun from the sand. He put it back in its holster. “I was trying to help you. But clearly you’d rather be Talon’s dog again. Have fun with that.” With that, Reaper shadow stepped away, leaving 76 looking around frantically for the whereabouts of the wraith.

76 called out his name several times, to no avail. Reaper enjoyed watching him flounder about in search of him. It was an interesting sight, him calling out to the void while barefoot on the beach. A passerby more than likely would have thought that he was homeless and insane. Idiot.

Reaper turned his back to the shore and headed back towards the center of town.

 

———

 

It had been two days since Reaper had left Jack gawking like an idiot on the shore of Castillo. In that time, he had had about three close encounters with Talon Patrols. He had managed to slip their notice two times and had had to kill the guards the third time. It was what he deserved for not paying close enough attention to his surroundings to notice the group of six men slinking around the streets in the cover of darkness. A smart man would have just left Castillo after the first encounter, or even the second or third. Hell, a smart man would have left Castillo at the earliest opportunity if he knew that there were armed soldiers after him.

But Reaper was honest with himself: he wasn’t always the smartest man.

His desire to see Jack captured again was stronger than his desire to flee to safety; Jack needed to get what was coming to him. Yet two days went by, and Reaper hadn’t seen much of a sense of urgency in the vigilante. After Reaper had left, Jack had gone back to the city, probably in search of him. He’d hobbled around a bit before settling down in a hidden alleyway on the outskirts of town. He stayed there for several hours before an elderly woman walked up to him. The two chatted for a while and then Jack was following her back into what he could only guess was her home.

Of fucking _course_ Jack Morrison—the golden boy of Overwatch—could charm his way into someone’s house. Even while looking like a disgusting, shoeless homeless person! It made Reaper’s blood boil seeing people take pity on him. If only they knew the shit he had just been through, maybe they wouldn’t be so keen to take him in! Where was Talon? How were they managing to track _him_ of all people down but not the guy just sitting in an alleyway? Reaper was incredulous.

The next day Jack left the old lady’s home with crutches. Crutches! The people of Castillo were piss poor yet he managed to score a pair of aluminum crutches. The rest of the day was spent by Jack doing what Reaper could only describe as mundane chores. Reaper watched as Jack hobbled to the store, awkwardly brought groceries back to the old woman, disappeared, hung up clothes on her clothesline, disappeared again, did gardening or some shit, and went back to her home for the night. All the while still avoiding the four Talon patrols that had taken to the streets.

Reaper waited on the old woman’s roof that night. Unlike Jack, he didn’t accept handouts.

Later that night Jack took off again, but not before being seen off by the old woman (named Maria, Reaper found out) and her husband. They embraced, and the vigilante took off north through the streets, keeping to the lesser traveled areas. Reaper kept his distance, following on the rooftops when possible and staying in the shadows when he had to take to the roads.

Honestly, Reaper wasn’t quite sure why he was tracking him. There were faster means of travel than having to stay a good distance behind a guy on crutches. A part of Reaper knew that Jack would be able to outmaneuver any Talon patrols he came across. He had already proven that. Yet something drove him onwards, to keep the vigilante in his sights. He had to know where he was going, Reaper convinced himself.

While Reaper was lost in thought, he forgot his footing and stepped on a glass bottle. It shattered beneath his weight in a noise that sounded deafening in the quiet of the empty alleyway. Reaper managed to shift into his wraith form and hide behind a dumpster before 76 could see him, thankfully. The advantages of being half-dead.

Rather than turning back around, though,76 held his gaze, staring down the crushed glass bottle. A few moments passed before the vigilante spoke up. “I know you’re there, Gabriel.”

_Shit._

The game was up, Reaper not-to-happily admitted to himself. No use in tracking someone if they could call you out by name. Reaper became physical from the smoke and stepped back out from behind the dumpster. “Hi.”

“How long have you been stalking me?”

Stalking was such a strong word. “Since about the time you hooked up with that old woman.”

“So about two days?”

“Yeah. Nice crutches.”

76 didn’t dignify him with a response, choosing to stare down the wraith instead, his grip visibly tightening on the horizontal bars of the crutches. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me?” His tone sounded more accusatory than questioning.

“I don’t. You look disgusting.” Reaper hesitated for a moment, then reached into his coat. “Here.” He tossed a pair of blue tennis shoes at the man, who had to drop a crutch to catch them before they hit him in the head. “I don’t want your feet bleeding all over the streets and traumatizing the kids.”

Jack repeatedly looked in between Reaper and the tennis shoes, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He slowly lowered himself down to sitting and put them on anyway. They were almost a perfect fit. Jack redid the laces on them until they fit snugly on his feet. “I don’t understand you,” he began slowly. “You say you want to watch me get hung up and tortured again, yet come back two days later with shoes. Is this some sort of peace offering, o-or what? I don’t know how to read this. I can’t even read you!”

“A simple thank-you would suffice.”

“You’re infuriating!” Jack shouted, incredulous. “What do you want from me, Reyes? Tell me!”

Jack’s tone threw Reaper off guard. He had only seen him lose his commanding composure a handful of times—not including their little torture sessions together. It was usually empathetic-as-ever Jack Morrison doing the readings on people, not him crying out in frustration. To be honest, Reaper wasn’t even sure himself why he did a lot of the things he did. When he wasn’t meticulously planning ahead, he was just going with whatever his head was telling him was right. This was one of those moments.

Reaper walked forward until he was standing in front of 76, then knelt down until they were both sitting in the stone alleyway. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and the residents of Castillo had long since retired for the day, leaving the streets eerily empty. The light from a nearby lamppost shone from around the corner into the alleyway, casting Jack’s face in a soft glow, highlighting his features contorted in bewilderment. Reaper let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Then inhaled deeply. “After the collapse of the Swiss headquarters, I was found by Moira. She had been working for Talon for longer than I had, and took me to their lab. While I was recovering, she started altering the wraith abilities she had given me during my time in Blackwatch. I lived, but it wasn’t without a price…”

They talked in the alleyway until sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish bits: (My Spanish is also supes rusty, so please feel free to correct me if I goofed anything up!)  
> “¿Qué estás haciendo en nuestro escondite?” = "What are you doing in our hideout?"  
> “Estábamos a punto de irnos.” = "We were just about to leave."  
> “¿Qué es esto? ¿Un hombre viento durmiendo en nuestro escondite? Maricones!” = "What's this? Another old guy sleeping in our hideout? Queers!"  
> “Nos vamos.” = "Were going."
> 
> It felt nice finally writing Reaper starting to put down his walls. I've been waiting this whole fanfic to write these parts asdfgh! I kinda wrote this in a hurry instead of being responsible and working on essays, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So I might go in and rewrite some bits later.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone for the comments/kudos! They make my day <3


	12. Chapter 12

76 didn’t know what to think.

So much had happened to the both of them since the downfall of Overwatch, events that couldn’t be told in a single night. Looking at Gabriel—Reaper—it was hard to imagine that his old best friend was hiding beneath the skull mask and black cloak. But this wasn’t just Reaper, the faceless terrorist who believed he was the personification of death itself. It was Gabriel Reyes, the man who’d felt hurt and betrayed and didn’t know how to cope with it. At least that was how 76 interpreted it. Gabriel claimed that he had always harbored these feelings of hatred, but Jack knew that wasn’t true. He knew that Gabriel was capable of experiencing joy, friendship, passion—even love. 

Jack liked to think that Gabriel had loved him at some point. It had been so long ago that the word felt foreign on his tongue. Looking at the way the wraith longed to see him suffer, it was hard to believe. But Jack remembered their time together, no matter how much Gabriel tried to scrub it from the record. 

He remembered the late evenings they had spent together back during their SEP days, both of them buried in stacks of papers and books with a 12-pack of energy drinks split between them as they crammed for their EOP exams (Gabriel had made him look bad in comparison; he’d never been good at testing). He remembered the nights in the military when he would sneak into Gabe’s room to rant about anything and everything on his mind to his higher up, and the times when he’d been too tired to slink back to his own room so he just slept in Gabe’s arms instead. The stolen kisses when they thought they were alone, the longer-than-necessary hugs when one of them returned from a mission safely. The time Ana joked about when they were going to get married (Jack had his suspicions that she had known about their relationship all along). 

But he also remembered the times they’d fight into the early hours of the morning, how their post-mission embraces got shorter and shorter until they hardly acknowledged each other anymore. The time Gabriel had threatened him and kept his grip on his wrists for just a little too long. Their relationship deteriorated because of Gabriel’s jealousy; the destruction of the Swiss headquarters was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, the end of a relationship that should have ended long before. 

Gabriel hadn’t delved into his emotions or personal life, just barely touched on the surface of what had happened to him since the headquarters was destroyed. He talked about the wraith abilities Moira had given him, how he had risen in the ranks of Talon. He talked about some of the assassinations he had done, much to 76’s chagrin. It was work as usual with him. Even back when they had been some semblance of a couple, he hadn’t learned much about Gabriel’s personal life or family. Whenever he brought it up, Gabe would just shrug it off and derail the conversation by making some joke or another. 76 has managed to drag some info out of him once, but it had been like pulling teeth. He had learned that Gabe was from San Francisco and that he was raised by his single mother who had lived in Puebla before moving to America. Gabriel liked watching professional basketball, even though he was terrible at it himself. Whether he still enjoyed the sport or not now was up for debate. 

After Reaper had spilled his heart to him, the two them had sat there for what felt like hours. It was a lot to process. Reaper hadn’t talked about himself that much in years, and the vigilante was still in shock from the fact that he had come to him in the first place. At some point during that exchange, 76 had unthinkingly invited Reaper to come along with him. He didn’t know what had come over him, whether it was pity or just sheer bewilderment. It had been a stupid, foot-in-mouth decision, and he was regretting it now. Yet his pride was preventing him from taking it back. 

Instead, 76 was now mentally cursing himself out as Reaper trailed behind him like a black-clad puppy. They had finally left the city and had taken to following alongside the road instead, out of sight yet close enough to know where they were going. The roads and scenery had rapidly deteriorated the farther outside of the city they got until the roads were regularly cracked and crumbling apart. 76 wondered how any car could travel in these conditions without the fear of the road giving out beneath. It was clear that the area was still recovering from the attacks, yet the government apparently had only tended to the main cities. A shame. Mexico had once been such a beautiful country. 

“So Gabe—“

“Reaper.”

“No. What brought you to this area?”

“Work. You?”

“Same. Heard rumors that there was a lot of Talon activity in this area, so I came to check it out. Wasn’t expecting to find you of all people here, though.”

“Apparently not. You probably wouldn’t have been captured had I not been there,” Reaper admitted. “Ana must be a shit scout in her old age if she didn’t know I was there.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. She’s still sharp as ever.”

Reaper shrugged. “But she still missed me.”

“You can also turn into a goddamn ghost, Gabriel.” 

“You’re not wrong.”

The two continued trudging on through the day, preferring to walk in silence rather than bringing up the thousand questions they—primarily Jack—still had. Deciding which ones were appropriate and which ones were still too sensitive was careful work. 76 didn’t want to set Reaper off over something stupid when they had just started to maybe rekindle some sort of… whatever this was. He hesitated to say ‘friendship’, as he didn’t know if he could truly be friends with a terrorist who refused to see the error of his ways. ‘Amiability’ might be better. ‘The desire to not kill one another on site’.

“We’re almost there,” 76 said gruffly, finally breaking the silence. The closer they got to what had once been their temporary hideout, the more hopeful he got. He longed to see Ana, to tell her what all had happened in the months they’d been apart. Despite the initial crap she would probably give him, she’d understand. More than anything, Jack was hoping for a return to normalcy. They had settled into a comfortable routine of scouting since they had joined up. It was dangerous work, with several people looking to turn them in at any given moment, but 76 wouldn’t have it any other way. He needed danger, craved it. The surge of adrenaline from a job well done made him feel like less of a failure and reminded him of his days back as a soldier. Ana understood that, too. She said she had returned to the battlefield to protect the ones she loved, but Jack knew she longed for the thrill of battle as well. Retirement just didn’t suit either of them.

76 had been lost in his thoughts, thinking of what he’d do if Ana had moved on, when he finally realized that Reaper had been trying to speak to him. “What? Sorry, I missed that.” 76 said, turning his head to look back at Reaper the best he could.

“Jackass. I asked where  _ there _ was.”

“Oh.” No need to be so damn rude about it. “An old hideout Ana and I had staked out at a while ago.”

“And you think she’s still going to be there after several months?”

“I dunno. That’s what I’m going to find out,” 76 growled. He didn’t appreciate Reaper’s pessimism. As if he wasn’t already worried enough.

He could see the crumbling shack that had once been his home in the distance, standing out against the sparse dried grass. It was a shoddy wooden structure with a creaky tin roof, one that had probably been built by another gang as a hideout only to be later abandoned. It wasn’t the prettiest structure (Ana had refused to try and find anything better), but it was a roof over their heads that had served as a good spot to keep an eye on Talon activity. 76 was relieved to see that it was still standing. 

The vigilante stuck an arm out. “Wait here. I’m going to go check it out first.”

“I don’t take orders from you,  _ Morrison _ ,” Reaper spat. “Besides, if there’s anyone else in there, you’re going to be as going as dead. Why don’t you let me—“

“If Ana is in there, I don’t want her to shoot you on site!” 76 snapped, harsher than he had intended. He could tell that he had irritated the masked man judging by the way his cloak began to trail out into thin lashing wisps of smoke. 

Reaper stilled, pausing mid-stride to stare down the vigilante from behind the mask. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” 76 reassured him. 

“Quick. Right.”

76 rolled his eyes before regripping his crutches and hobbling out towards the ramshackle hideout. The coarse dirt here made travel difficult, occasionally catching the rubber-coated ends of his crutches and almost sending him sprawling to the ground. He wished he didn’t need the damned things, but he knew he’d be that much slower without them. He longed to run again so that the trips that should have only taken a matter of hours didn’t take at least a day. This was the worst time for him to be crippled.

76 approached the small stoop that had been the entrance to the shack. Its wooden door was closed. He put his ear up to the surface, listening for any indication of life. 

Nothing.

He knocked lightly on the door.

Still not hearing any response, 76 dared to push the door open. He was met by an empty room, illuminated by the sunlight that filtered in through the cracks in the wood. “Hello?” He stepped inside. It was just as he had left it, except anything that might have indicated that people had once lived there was gone. His heart sank. “Ana?” 76 inspected the room thoroughly in search of a note, anything that might have indicated where she had gone.

There was nothing.

It was probably for the best that she had moved on. Honestly, he hadn’t expected her to wait months for his return when there was so much more she could have been doing with her time. 76 just hoped that nothing had happened to her, that she hadn’t made some idiotic mistake trying to rescue him or something. If she even knew he had been captured in the first place. 

76 grabbed his crutches and hobbled back out of the shack, dejected. He took a deep breath and put on his steel face as he approached Reaper; he didn’t want him to know just how disappointed he felt at that moment.

“Well?” Reaper asked, arms crossed over his chest. “Anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh.”

76 rested a crutch again his good leg and ran a hand through his hair. For some reason, he felt vulnerable, no longer holding on to the hopeful confidence that Ana was somewhere waiting for him. It completely screwed with his plans. He’d have to sit down and think this through again. Probably go back to how he was living before he had found Ana. 

“I’m tired.” 76 admitted. “You wanna rest here for the night?”

“Night? It’s 5 o’clock.”

“Okay, for the evening.”

“Why? So you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself?”

“What?” 76 raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “No, I need to—“

“I know you better than you know yourself, Morrison. Always have. And I know you’re feeling like a lost little puppy right now without your support blanket.”

“You must not know me very well then. I spent years on my own before I even knew Ana was alive. I’m used to it.”

“You felt that way because you thought you had to be alone. You were lying to yourself to keep up that damn soldier persona. But now that you have that human contact again, you don’t want to let it go.”

76 growled. “And I’m to assume that you’re suddenly the expert on relationships? The man whose sole purpose in life is to kill everyone he’s ever been close to?”

“I was just saying—“

“The man who blew up the base of the peacekeeping organization that paid his salary?” 76 could feel the blood starting to boil in his veins. What right did he have to psychoanalyze him when he clearly wasn’t the one with abandonment issues?

“Careful,” Reaper warned, hackles raised. Plumes of smoke were beginning to swirl and rise around his feet, encompassing his lower half in a slowly building fog.

“The man who refuses to believe that people had—and still do—care about him? That they were distraught when they’d thought you died in the explosion?” 76 was practically yelling, he realized.

“Last warning.”

“Like you can even pretend to know me anymore! You haven’t known me since I was promoted to Strike Commander—because you refused to! You needed something to take your frustration out on, and you chose me!”

In an instant Reaper was on top of him, sending 76 sprawling backward to the ground, pressing him into the dirt with his unmatched body weight as he began landing blow after blow to his face. Jack tried to raise his arms in defense, tried to land a punch of his own, but he was still in no condition to fight. Blood began running into his eyes as his brow split open from the impact. He tried to say something along the lines of “Stop,” but it came out as a series of gasps instead. The taste of iron filled his mouth. 

Reaper grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head forward. “You. Are. Pathetic,” he hissed into 76’s ear before slamming his head back into the ground. “I was the one that always had to clean up your messes, your little mistakes with the UN, yet you’re the one they said deserved to lead Overwatch. I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything that I’ve… hahhh…I’ve...”

The terrorist felt at his neck, only to pull out a small dart that had embedded itself into his skin. After several moments of scrutinizing the dart and turning it over in his hands, Reaper anticlimactically collapsed on top of the vigilante, who let out a loud grunt of surprise at the sudden weight.

“Guess it’s a good thing I changed the formula.”

That voice! 76 pushed Reaper’s weight off of his torso the best he could to get a better view of whoever it was was that was speaking to him. Ana was next to him in a second, biotic rifle aimed at Reaper’s head.

“Ana, wait!” 76 frantically raised his hand towards her. “It’s fine! He’s fine!”

“Well it doesn’t seem fine,” Ana retorted calmly, refusing to lower the rifle. “I just watched him beat you for a solid five minutes!”

“No, I brought him here! We just had a bit of a, uh, disagreement.”

After several moments of contemplation, the sniper finally lowered her rifled, clicking her tongue in disapproval as she watched 76 try and wiggle out from underneath Reaper’s dead weight. After a bit of a struggle, 76 was free. He stood up and dusted himself off before hobbling up to Ana. Unlike himself, she hadn’t changed a bit since he had last seen her. While she was still headstrong and put together, he knew that he looked like something that had crawled off the street. He was surprised that she had even recognized him—god knows he didn’t recognize himself. 

“Ana…” Jack was speechless. Where did he even start? She deserved an answer, but he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he fell to his knees at her feet, staring past her at the horizon. His face felt hot with shame.

“Stand up, Jack. None of that, now.” Ana held a hand out to the vigilante, pulling him up to his feet. 

76 stared at her for several moments before pulling her into a tight embrace. Tears began to prick at his eyes as he held on to her as if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to lose her, not again. His shoulders began to heave as he felt hot tears spill onto his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the urge to break down again. God, what a fool he must look like, 76 thought sadly to himself. Ana rubbed his back reassuringly, returning the embrace as he began sobbing into her shoulder.

“Shh, it’s alright, Jack. I’m here,” Ana said softly, hugging him tighter. After a few minutes of reassurance, Ana held him at an arm’s length to get a better look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, and he was refusing to make eye contact with the woman. “Look at me,  _ aleaziz _ .”

He sniffed and wiped at the blood under his nose with the back of his hand before begrudgingly looking her in the eyes. 

She smiled and placed a light hand on his jaw, tugging at the grey hair there. “You’re shaving this beard first thing tomorrow, right?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He sniffed again.

There was a small groan behind them. Reaper wobbled to his feet, rubbing a hand over where the sleep dart had stuck him. His legs shaking, he dusted himself off to the best of his abilities before crossing his arms to stare at the duo. He looked a baby deer that was walking for the first time, 76 thought with a smirk. The opposite of intimidating.

“Gabriel.” Ana removed her hands from the vigilante and began walking towards Reaper, arms raised for a hug.

Gabriel? 76 shot a glance at Ana, who was looking as nonchalant as ever. Had she known…?

Reaper took a step back, uncertain of his own footing. He reached a hand back into his cloak, poised to draw his shotguns at a moment’s notice. 

“None of that from you, either. Come here.” She wasn’t afraid of him. She had killed men bigger than him before, had taken down entire gangs. She had given birth, had raised a daughter on a military base. She knew Gabriel, and she wasn’t afraid of him—no matter how hard he tried to intimidate her. Unflinching, and much to his initial distaste, she pulled him into a hug. Reaper let out a growl at the contact, trying to push her away—but Ana held tight. Eventually, Reaper conceded, resigning himself to just let it happen. He placed an awkward hand on the small of her back. 

“Come, you two. We have a lot to talk about,” Ana declared triumphantly. “And I need to fix your face, Jack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Aleaziz" = Dear
> 
> Part of me is super pumped for the Retribution event this Tuesday because YES BLACKWATCH... but part of me is super not pumped because I know I'm gonna have to go in and update lore :,)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana catches up with 76 and Reaper after their three-month absence. Meanwhile, Talon has learned about Reaper's disappearance and discusses what should be done with him.

“Take a deep breath through your mouth,” Ana warned, positioning her fingers on either side of 76’s nose. Once Jack had inhaled deeply, she began slowly dragging her hands down his nose, setting the delicate bones and cartilage back into place as the vigilante grunted in pain.

“ _Ow_.” It has been a while since he had broken his nose. Hell, if his memory served right, it might have been Gabriel that broke it last time, too. He certainly didn’t miss the disgusting mixture of blood and snot that was steadily leaking from his nose. 76 gingerly touched his nose, only to have his hand quickly swatted away.

“Don’t touch it! Unless you _want_ it to heal crooked. Here,” Ana retrieved two small gauze pads from the first aid kit and nonchalantly shoved them into 76’s nostrils. Her fingers worked quick and precise with the practice of a woman who had done this a thousand times before. It took a lot more than blood and snot to bother her anymore.

“Thanks, Ana,” Jack said nasally, resisting the urge to touch his swollen nose. It hurt like hell. From personal experience, he knew he was going to have to deal with this for at least a solid three days before it would even start to feel better. _Thanks, Gabe._

“My pleasure. Gabriel!” Ana shouted, “why don’t you come join us? The tea’s ready.”

“I’m good,” Reaper replied from outside the shelter. He was fervently cleaning the stock of one of his shotguns.

“Suit yourself.” Ana rose from her spot on the ground and walked over to the steaming kettle sitting on a hot plate. She poured two steaming cups for Jack and herself before rejoining him. The vigilante gratefully took the drink from her hands.

“So,” Ana began, sitting cross-legged on the floor, “no use in ignoring the elephant in the room. Where were you, Jack? I was so worried about you.”

It was a sensitive subject, but Ana needed to know the truth. “I’m sorry to have made you worry, Ana. I was caught by Talon trying to steal their data. They threw me into a holding cell for several months. Truth be told, I’m honestly surprised I made it back at all. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Gabe. Hell,” 76 thought for a moment, “I guess I wouldn’t have been captured in the first place if it weren’t for Gabe, either.” He proceeded to tell Ana about the past three months: how Reaper had tortured him to try and get the locations of Overwatch members, how it’d dawned on him that Reaper had been Reyes all along and how he wasn’t actually dead. He told her about Talon’s plans to brainwash him as they had done with Amélie, how Reaper had rescued him, about their time in Castillo. Ana sat silently the whole time, listening to him attentively and nodding when appropriate. By the time he had finished explaining his absence, the sun had begun to descend towards the horizon, engulfing their hideout in long shadows.

76 took a deep breath. He had been talking for what felt like several hours and took the time to now down his cold untouched drink. “I did a lot of talking. No doubt you have some questions of your own for me.”

“Not many, actually. You did a good job of explaining yourself. There is something that has been nagging me, though.” Ana leaned in close, lowering her voice. “Why is _he_ here, Jack?”

76 scratched at the back of his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I invited him to our hideout without thinking, but I don’t know why he decided to stick with me this entire time. God knows I’m only slowing him down.” He glanced outside. Reaper was idly scrolling through a news feed on his tablet, his back pressed against a stone wall that was falling apart. “He says it’s because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go after the whole breaking me out thing. I want to trust him like back in the old days, but it’s hard—especially after everything he’s done to Overwatch. But it seems like he’s really putting in an effort to get me to trust him now, in his own way.” Jack sighed. “I don’t know, Ana. I really don’t.”

The old sniper nodded. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Jack.”

 

——-

 

He heard the bullet whizzing past him before he actually saw it. The bullet—a dart—had embedded itself in the wall next to him. It belonged to that damned biotic rifle of Ana’s. With a sigh, Reaper begrudgingly stood up and put his tablet away, walking over to where Ana and Morrison had been talking earlier.

“ _You rang?”_

_“_ Ah, Gabriel! You got my message. Good. Come sit with me.” Ana patted at the floor beside her.

Reaper sneered behind his mask. Ana was sitting on the floor of the shack with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. On her lap was Jack, fast asleep and snoring. He was curled up in a ball with his head resting on her outer thigh. She was absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. Reaper felt awkward, as if he was interfering with whatever this moment was.

“Are you two, uh…” Reaper gestured between the two, hoping that Ana would get the point so he wouldn’t have to explain it.

“Are we…?” Ana raised a silver eyebrow at him as she puzzled over his words. “Oh!” Her eyebrows shot back up. “No no no, we’re not together, if that’s what you were asking.” She chuckled, mostly to herself. “No, I’m too old to play those games. Dating is just a waste of my time.”

“Gotcha. So, uh, did you need something, or…?”

Ana patted the space beside her again. “Your company. Don’t think you’re going to get away with staying here and not talking to me.”

“I have to—“

“ _Gabriel.”_

_“Fine.”_ Reaper sighed, loud enough to get the point across that he didn’t want to do this, he hoped. There were a million other things he could have been doing rather than catching up with people that were supposed to be dead. Despite his front, he had witnessed the sniper’s fury firsthand before, and he was not keen to experience it again right now. With a final drawn out sigh, he dragged himself into the small hideout and kneeled down, still keeping a fair distance between them.

Ana clapped her hands together, her face beaming. “It’s so nice having you all here again—this time without the violence. There’s still some tea in the kettle if you—“

“No, thanks.” _Nice try, lady. The mask stays on._

_“_ Suit yourself.”

The room was silent except for Jack’s snoring, the sound only amplified by his broken nose. Reaper shot the man a death glare that he only hoped he could feel in his sleep. His snoring hadn’t been this bad back during the early days of Overwatch, thank god. Otherwise he would have most certainly murdered him in his sleep. He didn’t know how Ana put up with it; he’d only dealt with it for a couple of nights and it was enough to drive him up a wall.

Ana noticed Reaper scrutinizing the sleeping man and smiled. “He talks about you a lot, you know.”

_Oh, this was going to be good._ “Pray tell.”

“A lot of reminiscing about the old days. You know—old people talk. He’s brought up more than once how he missed you and how you didn’t deserve to die in the explosion. About how he wished he had listened to you more.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was you that day back in Giza,” Ana admitted sadly. “Thought it’d be better for him if he still thought you were dead.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’re still trying to shelter him?”

Ana chuckled, dropping her gaze down to Jack’s sleeping form. “I guess it’s just the mother in me. You two are too hard headed for me to even try and shelter you anymore, though.”

Another stretch of silence before Ana piped up again. “So besides almost killing Jack, what have you been up to, Gabriel?”

He shrugged. “Almost killing Jack. What have you been up to, Ana?”

“Waiting here while you were almost killing Jack.”

“Gotcha.”

A strong wind blew, rattling the metallic structure of the shack. For a brief moment, Reaper worried that the roof was going to fly away. The whole structure seemingly swayed against the force of the wind before settling back into place. Ana calmly sat there, as if she was used to the place almost caving in on her at any moment.

Reaper tore his attention from the structure of the building and back to Ana. “How’s Fareeha?”

Ana’s face instantly lit up again—a mother’s pride. “Fareeha? She’s doing well, from what I understand. She’s working in the security industry now and got a promotion not too long ago! She’s stubborn—“

“Just like her mother.”

“—and continues to follow her dreams, even though I wish her dreams weren’t so dangerous,” Ana sighed. “She makes a mother proud.”

“Fareeha was a good kid,” Reaper admitted. “Persistent.”

Ana laughed at that. “I saw a picture of her with a man the other day in the paper. A nice-looking IT guy that she had saved, apparently.”

“What about it? You hoping there’s something to it?”

Ana shrugged her shoulders before trying to stifle another laugh. “I want grandbabies before I die, Gabriel! Now that Fareeha’s all grown up, I need someone else to spoil.”

“Well, good luck with that. It’ll be hard for her to find someone that can keep up with her.” Reaper paused, before adding as an afterthought, “And if I find out that anyone has treated her wrong, I’ll kill them before they have time to regret it. You just let me know, Ana. I’ve got connections.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” Ana sighed, smirking. “So dramatic as always. This is why you were her favorite uncle.”

Reaper raised an eyebrow behind his mask, taken aback. “You’re just saying that. She had a poster of Reinhardt in her room, for Christ’s sake.”

Ana raised her hand dismissively and winked at the wraith. “But you’re the only one that went behind my back when she was grounded. You’re the one that taught her how to shoot a gun—even though you _knew_ my position on giving her a gun!” She pretended to swat him. “And don’t think I’ve forgiven you for that yet!”

Reaper shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for kids. And guns. At least she’ll have enough money to stick you in a retirement home one of these days.”

“I’ve tried retirement. It’s boring.”

“I don’t think a retirement home could hold any of the three of us anyway. Fareeha’s just going to have to deal with you chasing her around in a wheelchair in a couple of years.”

The smile on Ana’s face instantly dropped at the mention of it, diverting her gaze. She pretended to be interested in the tag on the back of Jack’s t-shirt. Any other person might have missed the mood shift in the room, but Reaper had spent enough time with her to know when Ana, normally prideful and good-humored, was uncomfortable. He pondered over what he had said, trying to figure out what had upset her. Then it hit him.

“Does Fareeha know you’re alive?”

Ana visibly winced at the question. Reaper watched as her chest expanded as she inhaled deeply. “Yes.”

“Obviously you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No no, it’s not like it’s a secret or anything.” She swallowed. “It took me a long time to come to terms with it. I thought about whether or not it would be better if she thought I was dead, but I couldn’t do that to her. I didn’t want her to feel the pain of no longer having a mother. So I wrote her a letter a couple of months ago explaining myself.”

“And what did she say?”

“Nothing. I haven’t heard back from her.”

“Hm.”

Ana distractedly tucked the tag back into Jack’s shirt, who jerked in his sleep and muttered something incomprehensible. His grey hair was sticking up in odd clumps, ruffled by sleep. Reaper found himself smirking at the sight. It would have almost been cute if he had been looking at anyone else besides Jack Morrison.

More jerking. Jack’s muttering went from low babbling to panicked-sounding whines. Ana looked down at him, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Jack?”

She nudged his shoulder lightly in an attempt to wake him from whatever nightmare he was having. He shot up from Ana’s lap instantly, his blue eyes wide with panic. Glancing around the room, he scanned his surroundings until his eyes settled on Reaper, dark and looming in the confined space. A ragged scream tore from Jack’s throat. In his blind panic he didn’t recognize anything in the room, didn’t recognize Ana as she wrapped her arms around him in an attempt to calm him. As Reaper stood up, hands in the air to show the frightened soldier that they were empty, Jack attempted to scrabble far away from him. Ana’s grip around him was tight, however, and she pulled him back to her, whispering words in his ear that were inaudible past his shrieks. His pupils were blown.

Reaper frantically looked between Jack and Ana. For once in his life, he genuinely had no idea what to do—and that frustrated him beyond belief. He took a step back, only to have Jack flinch in Ana’s arms. Was he afraid of him?

“You need to leave,” Ana demanded, casting a look over her shoulder. Her gaze bore into Reaper’s. There was a stern sadness in her single brown eye. The look of a woman who had raised not only a daughter but the countless soldiers that had been in her company. A protector.

“What did I do?”

“ _Gabriel.”_ Despite not raising her voice as to not upset Jack further, her message was clear with the single word: get the fuck out of here.

Reaper trusted Ana to know what to do in this situation far better than him, anyway, even if it admittedly did sting a bit. He quickly scrabbled out of the shack to the sounds of Ana shushing Jack, his choked sobs audible even from the outside.

 

——-

 

Sombra’s skin was crawling. Did she consider herself evil? No. Shady? Definitely. You could say she was a vigilante for justice, one that did what had to be done to expose the true evils of the world. But the way these men were talking about their comrade disgusted her. It was as if they had forgotten about all of the work Gabe had done for them in the past. With Overwatch out of the way, Talon had flourished. And who was behind that? Gabe. Despite their differences, he had been the one that had suggested that they free Doomfist after he’d been locked up. But now Doomfist was talking all high and mighty, saying that he’d “Always known that he would betray them” and that Reaper had always been “Just a dog”. And Moira was just nodding along in agreement, as if she too had always thought these things even though she was the one among them that had known Gabe the longest. But Sombra knew; Sombra knew that she was only agreeing with them so that she could get her little mind control project back.

It was gross.

Sombra had always kind of considered Talon her family—an unwholesome family that she would betray in a heartbeat if the circumstances were right, but a family nonetheless. They had taken her in with open arms, let her finally live up to her potential. As long as she went along with their little missions, she pretty much had free reign to do whatever she wanted with Talon’s resources. They were their own little family of outcasts, shunned by society because they were too ambitious: Moira wanted the advancement of science, Doomfist wanted the advancement of society, she wanted to expose corruption at its source, Widowmaker just kind of did as she was told, Reaper…. She didn’t exactly know what Reaper wanted. Something about killing Overwatch. It wasn’t a perfect explanation, but still. They were a family. And now everyone was spitting on Reaper as if he had meant nothing to them.

“We don’t have a choice. He knows too much. We have to kill Reaper before he ruins us, teach him that he can’t betray Talon and expect us to take him back,” said Doomfist. He was the calm before the storm, pacing frantically around the conference room. Beneath the surface, Sombra could tell, he was furious. The kind of furious that caused him to nonchalantly toss people off bridges as if they were a sack of potatoes (That had been fun to watch).

Moira chimed in, “That’s _if_ he even decides to come back. It’s a very real possibility that he took the prisoner and left for good. If that is the case, then it will be all the harder to find him.”

“What are you doing to try and find him?” asked Doomfist. He walked over to the side of the table across from the geneticist and leaned onto it, pressing his knuckles into the wood. His dark eyes darted between Moira and Sombra—the two that were at the base at the time of the incident.

Sombra, however, didn’t even notice that Doomfist was talking at her. At least she pretended that she didn’t notice and that her phone was a lot more interesting. She was actually very interested in this conversation, but Moira was a lot better at the whole roundtable discussion thing. So she left it to her.

“We have eight patrols out at all times in both Castillo and El Dorado, and six patrols covering the roads. He was last spotted in Castillo, where we believe he killed the troops that had tried to apprehend him. Because of that little mishap, we do not have the proper resources to try and subdue him.”

“That’s not enough patrols,” Doomfist stated plainly. “Reaper is dangerous. We need to dedicate all of our resources to finding him and, if necessary, killing him.”

Moira spoke up again. “We should also focus on capturing Soldier 76 again. We’ve only started on—“

“Reaper is our first priority.”

Moira’s professional face dropped for just a moment into a scowl. She sat up straighter in her chair and clasped her hands in front of her, as if resisting the urge to drain the life out of Doomfist right then and there.

Sombra had to hold back a snicker at Moira’s reaction. For someone who claimed to be a professional, the geneticist didn’t handle differing opinions very well. Served her right.

“I purposely genetically engineered Reaper to be hard to kill. Even if we sent all of our men after him, he wouldn’t go down unless they managed to shoot him in the head—no easy feat. Even then, they would have to sever the brain stem in order to keep him from regenerating.”

Sombra’s eyes widened at that comment. Gabe had been able to grow his brain back, and he’d _never told her?!_ That was so cool! He was like those weird lizard things her and her friends used to find in Lake Xochimilco when she was a little girl. Oh, she would _have_ to ask him about that the next time she saw him!

“That could be arranged,” a new voice spoke up.

Sombra looked up from her phone to find that it was Widowmaker who had spoken up, her soft voice barely audible over some of the side conversations, almost invisible as she stood in the corner of the room. Everyone looked up when she spoke, some of the people at the table dropping their conversations mid-sentence to listen to the assassin speak.

“I can kill him.”

“Ah, Widowmaker!” Doomfist smiled and stride over to the woman. “I think you would be perfect for the job.”

Widowmaker dodged Doomfist’s meaty hand as it tried to place it on her shoulder. “It would be a fun fight. I would like to be the one that puts Reaper out of his misery rather than a simple Talon foot soldier.”

“It is settled, then. Widowmaker will be in charge of eliminating Reaper. We will deploy more undercover soldiers onto the streets to track him down. An aerial unit will be deployed as well. Dr. O’Deorain, I trust that you can brief Widowmaker on the specifics of Reaper’s little condition?”

Moira opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it again. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Now hold on,” Sombra spoke up for the first time. “Why are we trying to _kill_ him again? Wouldn’t he be a lot more valuable to us alive? Reaper is, like, a ghost or something and also has ties to Overwatch! You don’t see that every day! We get Widow to tranquilize him, drag him back to base, recondition him or whatever, and bam! Back on our side.”

“While that would be a nice sentiment, there are too many things that could go wrong, too many factors at play. While we don’t know Reaper’s motives, it is possible that he could ruin us if information were to get out. We can’t have that, not when we are so close to our goal. Reaper must die.” Doomfist gave a curt nod in Sombra’s direction. His word was final. “Maximilien, we will need a sizable amount of money for this operation…”

Sombra tuned out the rest of the conversation. What was even the point of being here if they weren’t even going to _consider_ what she had to say?! Reaper was the best asset that they had, and they were just going to kill him like that! _Pendejos!_ She hadn’t been worried before when the plan was to just send troops after him. Reaper could take care of them no problem. She’d seen him clear rooms of 30 plus people before. But against Widowmaker, she wasn’t so confident. She was the best assassin Talon had for a reason: quick, silent, and merciless. There was no hope that she was going to have a sudden burst of sympathy for her teammate and spare him. No, she would do her job without an ounce of remorse, and Sombra hated her for it. She had to do something; she didn’t know what, but she just knew that she would feel terrible if Gabe died and she hadn’t at least tried _something!_

The hacker pounded her clenched fist against the table, causing the plant centerpieces to rattle in their pots. Everyone immediately turned their attention to Sombra, their conversations trailing off as their eyes bore into her. She couldn’t deal with this right now. “I’m going back to the helicopter. Moira, Widow, I’ll see you in a bit.”

_Play it cool, Olivia._ With a final wave to the rest of the room, Sombra calmly stood up from her chair and left the silent conference room. After she was sure that the door had properly closed behind her, she slumped down against the wall, the threat of tears stinging her eyes.

 

———

 

“What’s the matter, Sombra? You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet the whole flight.”

Sombra looked up from the floor to make eye contact with Moira, who was looking her over, probably void of any empathy whatsoever, like one of her science experiments. Scrutinizing her. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking.”

“You seemed upset today during the meeting. Care to talk about it?"

Widowmaker chimed in. “She’s a woman in love, Moira. Let her be.”

“ _What?”_ Sombra just about shrieked. “I don’t know what drugs you’re on, _amiga,_ but I’ll have whatever you’re having!”

“Please, _ma chère._ You forget that I have been in your shoes before. I have seen the way you look at him, and it is not the way one looks at a comrade. I may no longer be able to feel love, but I know that dreamy-eyed look when I see it.”

Sombra scoffed. “You might want to get your _feelings radar_ checked then, because apparently that got messed up, too. No,” Sombra flipped her hand, as if that further emphasized her point, “Gab—Reaper is a teammate. Do I like to consider us friends? Sure. Does he? Probably not, but I’m okay with that. Just because I’d rather not see him die doesn’t mean I’m ‘ _in love’_ ,” finger quotations, “with him.”

“Awfully defensive about it,” Moira chided, grinning. “Almost as if she’s in love.”

“ _¡Cállate, bolso viejo!”_ Sombra scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You know what? I don’t care. You guys think whatever you want, even though you’re wrong. I’m just sad to see that the both of you are so okay with just killing Reaper—your _friend_ —rather than actually punishing him.”

“You feel no pain in the afterlife, freed from the suffering of a mortal life. If anything, we are doing him a favor by killing him rather than letting him get captured.”

“Yeah, says the woman who’s been conditioned to think that,” Sombra grumbled.

“Relax, Sombra. I know this may be hard, but you’ve devoted yourself to Talon first and foremost. We must dedicate ourselves to the mission, no matter the cost.” Moira reached a hand out as if to touch Sombra on the shoulder, but reconsidered. She placed her hands in her lap instead, settling for a supposed-to-be-comforting-but-was-the-opposite smile at Sombra instead.

_Yeah, right,_ Sombra thought _._ Moira was almost flakier than her! She’d screw up a mission in a heartbeat if it meant she could get some funding for her weird research. That was one of the reasons she had been fired from Overwatch in the first place!

Stupid Reaper, going around causing so much trouble for her. Not only had she had to go and mess with the security footage from the night he pulled his little stint, but now she had to live with the fact that both Moira and Widowmaker thought she had the hots for the guy! Unacceptable. Yeah, he would definitely owe her _big time_ the next time they saw each other— _if_ she ever got to see him again, anyway. Sombra just hoped that this Soldier 76 guy had been worth it. If she didn’t get a wedding invitation in the next five years, she was going to be pissed!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language bits:  
> "Pendejos" = Idiots  
> "Ma chère" = My dear  
> "¡Cállate, bolso viejo!" = Shut up, you old bag!
> 
> The year is 2076. Sombra can dig up Axolotls because they're no longer critically endangered and everyone is happy, especially me. Because I love axolotls and their dopey happy faces <3
> 
> Finally a new chapter! Sorry this one took so long, I had to do finals and all of that fun end of the semester shtuff. Now that I'm on summer break, though, hopefully I can roll these out a lot faster!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITSHAPPENING.GIF

 

“Glad to see you’re starting to feel better,” Reaper commented, his arms crossed. _Physically and psychologically._ It had surprised him when he had walked into the hideout to ask Ana a question, only to find Jack up and at it and doing the most pathetic pushups he had ever seen. The old soldier was on his knees as he grunted through his strained exercises. An A for effort though; everyone had to start somewhere, even if you were an enhanced super soldier. Reaper imagined he’d be back in shape in just a few weeks’ time. That was one of the perks of having had a metric ton of god-knows-what pumped into your veins.

“Still feel like I was hit by a dump truck, but I’m working on it,” Soldier 76 panted. “My nose hurts like hell. Guess I have you to thank for that.”

“I guess you do.” Reaper watched the muscles in Jack’s back contract as he pushed himself back up from the floor, covered in a sheen of sweat from the mix of exercise and the humid 85-degree air. The fresh scars on his back were healing nicely, he noted, much less gruesome than they had been three months prior when they had been gaping gashes across the bare expanse of his back. Reaper reflected fondly upon that session, upon the feeling of his claws cleaving through Jack’s flesh like butter and coming out crimson with his blood. Torture was one thing, but doing it with your own hands was a whole other experience. In a way, it was the ultimate stress reliever, a means of payback after he’d been stuck in his shadow for so many years in Overwatch. He quickly shook the thought from his head.

“Where’s Ana?”

“I think she said she was going out for a bit.” After a few more sets of push ups, 76 decided to call it a day and pushed himself into a seated position, brushing his hands off on his pants. “By the way, I, uh,” he started awkwardly, glancing up in Reaper’s direction, “wanted to apologize for yesterday. I must have been having some nightmares or something. Don’t know what came over me.”

“Probably PTSD,” Reaper offered nonchalantly.

“I mean, I guess that’s a possibility. I don’t remember much of it, honestly.”

“It’s a pretty good possibility, if you ask me. Let’s not forget the time you broke down in the hotel not long ago.” Reaper had seen this before, had experienced it firsthand in the form of vivid nightmares for the first three months after being trapped under rubble in Switzerland.

76 shrugged. “Anyway, sorry about that.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” Reaper briefly glanced down at 76. “I’m leaving. I thought about not telling you, but I figured I at least owe you this.”

“What?” 76 stood back up, wincing at the flash of pain that shot down his leg. “Why?”

“This isn’t good for you, Jack. I’m not good for you. If it’s gotten to the point where you’re having nightmares about me, then I shouldn’t be here.”

“If I’m having nightmares or PTSD or whatever you think it is, only time and exposure will fix it. It has nothing to do with you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Morrison, it has everything to do with me. I captured you. I tortured you for _three months_ and not just because it was my job, but because I _enjoyed_ it.”

“Well,” 76 ran a hand through the back of his hair, “you did rescue me multiple times. So that’s something. I think there’s still hope for you.”

“You need to learn to let go of the past. There’s no ‘saving’ me, or whatever it is you’re hoping to do.”

“Let go of the past? I’m not the one hunting down past Overwatch operatives.” He sighed. “I haven’t given up on you yet, Gabe.”

“Then you’re more stupid than you seem. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not Gabriel Reyes anymore.”

“I know that,” 76 dropped his voice. “I know that I’m not going to get my best friend back. He was gone long before Switzerland.” The old soldier distractedly stared across the horizon for several moments before speaking up again. “I’ll forgive you for the past three months if you’ll forgive me for letting you down as Strike Commander.” He took a step forward. ”I want you to stay with us.”

What was wrong with this guy? How could anyone go from having night terrors about someone to asking for _forgiveness_ or whatever the hell it was he was talking about in the span of a day? It was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous! It was making him sick. “What part of _I am not good for you_ don’t you get?”

“See, though? That’s called compassion. You’re not thinking about yourself, you’re worried about your impact on me. That’s the same compassion that pulled me from the Talon base, and that stuck me in a hotel room, and that carried me—“

“What’s your point, Morrison?” He was starting to piss him off.

“My point is,” he paused to catch his breath, “you wanted to follow me here, and I want you here now. You trusted me, and I’m trusting you.”

“Why do you read so deep into this shit?” Reaper threw his hands up, exasperated. Here he was trying to do something nice for once—for his fucking mental health—and he had to go and ruin it. “Fucking _fine._ I’ll stay. But if you start crying in your sleep again at me, I’m done.”

76 fucking _beamed_ at him, as if he’d just witnessed the birth of his firstborn or something. “I can’t make any guarantees, but I’ll, uh, try my best.”

“Great. That’s settled.”

“Yeah.”

The two stood in relative silence, squaring each other up. Jack really did look like shit, Reaper thought. Seeing the kind of shape he was in now, he had no doubts that he could have killed the other man with his bare hands if he’d really wanted to. Morrison had been the only one who could keep up with him in sparring sessions back in the day; they both had enough chemicals pumped into them to basically be equals in that regard. But now he wouldn’t even stand a chance. The techniques were still there, but the muscle mass and stamina were not. Reaper snorted.

“What?” 76 raised an eyebrow at him, frowning.

“You look like shit.”

76 crossed his arms in front of him, leaning onto his good leg. “Gee, thanks. Not the first time _that’s_ come out of your mouth.”

“You asked, and I told you what was on my mind.”

“That’s an odd way of saying you were checking me out.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“At least I’m not the one running around in a mask and a children’s grim reaper costume.” 76 was well aware that this line of arguing was childish, but the hooded terrorist could rile him up faster than anyone. And here he thought—had been _certain_ —that they had been making progress.

“If you looked the way I looked, you’d be wearing it, too.”

“I looked fine before you and your thugs decided to drown and starve me for months.”

“And I look like this because of you.”

“We’re not getting into this again.” 76 rolled his eyes. “At least I’d be nice enough to not outright say that you look like shit out of nowhere.”

“Doubt it.”

“How could I if I don’t even know what you look like?”

“Do you want to?” Reaper immediately wanted to kick himself the moment the words came out of his mouth. A terse stillness filled the room. He had meant it as a joke, but judging by the way the vigilante was staring back at him with wide eyes led him to believe that he hadn’t.

“Seriously?”

Reaper sighed. He was too proud to take the words back and make himself look like an idiot and he knew it. _Shit_.

With a practiced motion, Reaper undid the clasp to his right gauntlet and slid it off, exposing the bare skin of his hand to the warm air. He held his hand out for inspection as if he was showing off a new engagement ring, carefully watching 76’s face for any sort of reaction. Whether by force or because he was trying to spare his _feelings_ , his face remained a blank slate, if not a little bit curious. Reaper felt on edge, his nerves seemingly vibrating in place at the idea that someone— _Morrison_ —was actually seeing the outcome of the base explosion, of Moira’s experiments, for the first time. He was seeing him—the real him. It made him feel vulnerable. If Jack reacted at all, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t bolt or murder him on the spot, neither of which were particularly desirable outcomes (maybe).

76 looked down at his hand, back up at him, and back down.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, ghosting his own hand above his, hesitant.

“Yeah.”

He immediately pulled his hand away, glancing up at Reaper with eyes wide in apology.

“Not to touch, you idiot.”

“Can you—“

“No. There’s nothing that can be done about it, besides pain management. It’s a side effect that I just have to deal with.”

“Gotcha.” Still carefully eyeing Reaper, 76 brought a finger down to touch the exposed skin on his hand. Noticing the slight jerk in his reaction, 76 quickly pulled his hand away again. “Did that hurt?”

“For Christ’s sake…” For being a soldier, Jack sometimes had the bravado of a fucking rock. Reaper rolled his eyes and placed Jack’s hand on top of his palm. “Is that what you wanted?”

Reaper almost chuckled at the vigilante’s reaction. His blue eyes were wide in surprise, his mouth hanging open just a bit as he looked between his face and his hand. After everything he’d been through—gunshots, stab wounds, fire—now Jack was worried about _hurting_ him. Hell, he’d just gotten done inflicting pain on Morrison as a full-time job not too long ago, and he was worried about hurting him. It was hilarious. If he were a sentimental person, he’d almost say it was sweet.

Upon noticing how 76 refused to move his hand now and was still watching him cautiously, he spoke up, “It’s fine.”

76 visibly sighed with relief. With new confidence, he ran his thumb along the rough skin on the back of his hand, gnarled with raised scars. Flipped his hand over to inspect his palm, his fingers the pallid fingernails at the ends, the exposed graying flesh of his wrist and forearm. “That’s kind of cool, actually.” 76 commented. “I don’t know what you were worried about. I saw worse during the Omnic Crisis.” He trailed a finger along a prominent vein bulging out along his arm.

Reaper shuddered at the contact. It was only a little bit, but enough for 76 to pick up on, apparently, as he quickly pulled away.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You kind of sh—“

“I’ll revoke your touching privileges.”

“Sorry.” 76 quirked an eyebrow at him, but kept exploring his arm, paying special attention to his hand. After several more moments he slowly drew his hands and hesitantly went for the black hood of his coat. Carefully watching Reaper for any sudden reaction, he pulled the dark cloth down from over his head, revealing his closely shorn hair. “Huh.”

Reaper immediately bristled at the comment. “What?”

“I was expecting you to be bald, honestly. Or at least grayer than I am.”

“You’re a jackass.”

76 hummed at the remark, a slight smile on his face. “You dye it, right?”

“I’m basically a fucking ghost and you’re worried about my _hair routine.”_

 _“_ I’m just asking the important questions here.” The smile slid from his face as he attempted to make eye contact with Reaper, his pale eyes looking over the white skull mask in front of him. Reaper’s eyes were obscured by the mask.

Reaper could tell by the mood shift that Jack was debating whether or not he wanted to address the elephant in the room. His stomach sank at the thought, filling him with a sense of dread he hadn’t felt in a long time. Having Sombra see his face was one thing, but Jack was something else. It was because of him that he looked like this in the first place. A part of him still deeply resented him for that. Another small part was afraid of what his reaction would be.

“Can I…?”

Reaper visibly winced at the question. _Shit_. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded his head slightly.

With the affirmation, Soldier 76 reached behind Reaper’s head to carefully undo the three straps that held it in place. He worked quickly, much faster than Reaper would have liked, undoing each strap with deft fingers until only one was left.

Reaper shot a hand up and gripped the vigilante’s wrist hard enough to bruise. At the pained grunt from 76, he slowly loosened his grasp and returned his hands back to his side, releasing the held breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. Reluctantly, he nodded at the other man to continue.

After undoing the last of the clasps, 76 grabbed the corners of his mask with both hands and slowly pulled it away. His eyes widened with surprise as Reaper stared back at him, the whites of his eyes now a deep black.

“You did this to me.” A trail of dark smoke seeped from Reaper’s mouth as he spoke, low and deliberate. He watched 76’s reaction closely.

For once, Jack was speechless. He had no idea what to say to the wraith as he took in each detail of his face, from the creases that were now at the corner of his eyes to the haunted look in his dark eyes. He brought a hand up to gently run a thumb across the wide patch of raised scar tissue that ran along his right cheek. More smoke billowed out of his mouth at the contact as Reaper leaned, just slightly, into the touch. “Gabe…”

“ _I hate you.”_

His voice was a lot clearer without the mask, 76 noticed, even when he spoke no louder than a gruff whisper.

Reaper’s eyes darted up to look into 76’s only to have his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him cupping his jaw. The feeling of lips on his own caused him to about jump out of his skin, his eyes snapping back open to see just what had happened. Jack’s face was mere inches away from his, a small smile on his face.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

He pulled back a bit. “Was that not okay?” Upon not getting a response from the wraith, he took a full step backward. “Damn, I’m sorry, it, uh, just kind of—“

“Do that again.”

“I, uh, w-what?”

The vigilante’s face was flushed bright red. If Reaper could have taken a picture of the goofy smile that slowly spread across his face at the realization, he thought, he would get that shit framed.

The other man closed the gap between them again, hesitated for a split second, and cupped Reaper’s face before placing another chaste kiss on his lips. Reaper was ready for it this time, and wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist and roughly pulled him in closer. He let out a small surprised noise and Reaper took advantage of it to deepen the kiss. Moving his arms to wrap around his neck instead, Jack practically melted into the heated embrace as Reaper’s tongue explored his mouth.

Jack was the first one to break for air, pulling away from the kiss with a gasp. Grinning all the while, he buried his face in Reaper’s neck; he still smelled faintly like gunpowder. It made his heart flutter.

“We shouldn’t do this...“ The words came out halfhearted.

“Why not?”

As if by command, the both of them suddenly picked up on the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance. With a snarl, Reaper pushed 76 away, sending him sprawling onto his ass. In an instant, Reaper was gone.

Ana opened the door, only to find a very befuddled Jack Morrison sitting on the floor, his face bright red. “Hey, uh, Ana.”

“ _Hey, uh, Jack_.” If the sniper had noticed anything, she didn’t mention it. “I got you a welcome home present while I was out.” She proudly held out a white paper bag with the McDonald’s logo on it, beaming. “Six double cheeseburgers, right?”

“Damn, Ana, you didn’t have to do that.” _Really, you didn’t._ 76 took the bag gratefully out of her hands anyway. At least he was hungry. “Thanks.”

“Where’s Gabriel?” Ana asked. “I got him some cheeseburgers, too.”

76 ignored her question, choosing to quickly dig a cheeseburger out of the bag instead and cover up any other possible questions with the rattling of the wrapper as he balked it up and tossed it in the bag. The burger was the best damn tasting thing he had had in _months._

“I got you another surprise.”

“Oh! Uh, what is it?”

Ana chuckled. “You could at least sound a little more excited. Here.” She picked up a plastic bag behind her, a knot tied into the handles, and handed it to 76.

The vigilante untied the bag, only to find a packaged razor and a can of shaving cream. He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Is this a present for you, or for me?”

“Both of us.”

“What, you don’t think I’m a silver fox with this beard? This is a good three months of growth!” 76 cupped his chin and shot Ana the most appealing look he could muster despite his bruised and swollen nose.

Ana laughed and swatted Jack on the shoulder. “Let’s just say I’ll be glad when it’s gone.”

76 grunted in reply and set the bag aside. He would think about it. _Maybe._ The beard had actually started to grow on him. Made him look more rugged, like a mountain man. He reached back for the McDonald’s back and quickly scarfed down another two cheeseburgers as Ana joined him on the floor with her chicken wrap and started telling him about her day.

76 was only half-listening to her. The rest of him was thinking about what had just happened with Gabriel. One moment he was almost arguing with the man, and the next he was wrapped in his arms. It made his head spin. If someone has told him four months ago that he and a terrorist would be making out, he would have called them crazy. Everything had progressed so fast in the past week that he didn’t even know what the next move was. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that. But a part of him, the damned sentimental side, still longed to rekindle their old relationship.

He had missed Gabriel. Even during the late stages of Overwatch, when they were arguing more than actually talking and hadn’t slept together in months, he had still loved him. Learning that he hadn’t died in Switzerland and had turned to working for Talon instead had been like a knife twisting in his gut, but he had been relieved that he had survived. One less death on his hands. But this—this was something entirely different. This wasn’t Gabriel Reyes, his best friend since the army. No, this was Reaper. This was the man that killed innocent men and women on a whim, whose only goal was to murder each and every surviving member of Overwatch. This was a ruthless killer who had just happened to let him escape. Who he had apparently fallen for, in some twisted series of events.

76 sighed. He wasn’t even sure if he had fallen for him, or just what he represented. Deciphering feelings was hard and he’d never been particularly good at it, especially at deciphering his own feelings.

“Jack?”

“Hm?” He glanced up from burger he had apparently been staring at to find Ana looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

76 rested his cheeseburger on his thigh and wiped the crumbs from his hands, shaking any thoughts about the wraith from his already distracted mind. “Sorry, Ana. I must have spaced out.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Her eyes narrowed at the man in front of her. “Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?”

76 dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “No, I’m fine. It’s just a bit warm in here.” Damn. And he thought he’d been off the hook.

“Mhm.” Ignoring his excuse, Ana leaned forward and brushed his sweaty bangs away to place the back of her hand against his forehead. “You feel warm to me. Have you been taking your antibiotics?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Ana pulled her hand away. “You should take it easy today and get some rest. Your body is still recovering from, well, everything.”

“I promise, I feel fine—“

“ _Jack Morrison.”_

 _“_ Yes, ma’am _.”_

“Mother knows best.” Ana gave him a wink. “Once you start feeling better, we can go stake out a new spot—one far away from Talon for the time being.”

“Sounds good. I think I’m done with Mexico for a long while, anyway.”

“Now get some sleep. We have some matters to discuss when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter about three times and I’m still not happy with it :,)
> 
> Also, I’m strongly debating if I want to up this story rating to explicit *COUGHSEXUALTHEMES* in a future chapter or not—but not like not porn level or anything. Idk, I’m waffling about it. Any input would be super appreciated!
> 
> Thank you all for reading ilu <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soneone pays Reaper an unexpected visit; Gabe and Jack are garbage at talking about their feelings.

 

Fucking Ana, always finding the least convenient times to poke her nose into things. Good intentioned or not, she was the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

Reaper sighed and leaned back against the large tree he had taken shelter behind. His mask and gauntlets were still inside the hideout, leaving him feeling exposed. He could go grab them, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Ana right now. She had only recently gone to bed—10 hours later. The sun had since gone down, the full moon the only source of light now. The twinkling lights of El Dorado could be seen in the distance, adding some distraction from the otherwise stagnant darkness.

He pulled the hood of his coat back over his head. It was no mask, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A small pebble landed next to his boot. Reaper picked it up and inspected it; nothing out of the ordinary,

Another one rolled next to his hip, followed by one hitting him on the shoulder. Alarmed, Reaper quickly turned around to try and locate the source of the onslaught. A fourth pebble arched out from behind a sparse bush, rolling to a stop a few feet away from him.

Reaper was in his wraith form in an instant and frantically darted behind the shrub to get behind the perpetrator. His hand was on its throat before he even realized who it was throwing rocks at him.

“Sombra?”

Sombra let out a surprised squeak and frantically grabbed at the hand around her neck.

He immediately released his grip and pushed her away, sending her sprawling into the mass of sticks and leaves beside her.

“Ow!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Reaper glanced around to make sure she hadn’t been followed.

“Nice to see you too, _cábron._ ” Sombra delicately lifted herself out of the bush, being careful not to poke herself on any of the branches.

Reaper lowered his voice. His fingers itched to grab the shotguns at his waist. ”How did you find me? Who else is here?”

”Relax, Gabe, it's just me.” Sombra sat back up and started the process of picking dried leaves from her dark hair. She plucked at them in silence for a couple of seconds before she dared to speak up again. “And don’t get mad at me or anything, but I might have stuck a tracker in your jacket.”

Reaper instantly tore off his coat and began looking it over. Sure enough, there was a small purple-colored tracker inside the sleeve. He growled and ripped it out, crushing it beneath his boot. “ _Sombra!”_

“Look, you seem mad—even though I told you not to get mad.”

“ _I’m not yours to keep track of_. Do you know how dangerous that could have been if Talon had gotten ahold of my location? Fuck, it still is dangerous!” Reaper couldn’t believe it. After all the shit he’d just been through, there’d been a _tracker_ of all things on him this entire time. He was getting sloppy; he should have checked himself the minute he arrived at that hotel. Leave it to Sombra to just go and… ruin everything.

“Do you ever stop and _think_ about this shit before you do it?”

Sombra stuck her chin up and met Reaper’s gaze, her steely resolve quickly melting beneath his glare. She inhaled sharply before continuing. “Nobody saw that data besides me! I know what I’m doing!”

“Can you be sure about that? There are cameras all over that place. There’s six outside of my door alone. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? That’s your problem: you’re too fucking nosy for your own good, and it’s going to get you killed one day! You’re lucky if I don’t—“

Sombra sniffed. “Talon is sending Widowmaker after you.”

“ _What?_ How do you know that? _”_

 _“_ We all had to attend the meeting while you were off playing hero with that old guy.”

With a snarl, Reaper threw his coat back on and fastened it. “How long?”

Sombra shrugged. “I dunno. Probably two weeks max before she sets out. How long it takes her to find you is another question.”

 _Of course it’d be now of all times!_ Not too much worried Reaper; being nearly indestructible did that to you. However, Widowmaker worried him. He’d worked with her on several missions, had seen how ruthless she was in the heat of battle. They had been friends once, back before he had joined Talon and she had still been Amélie and not Widowmaker. She was a shell of her former self now. She was one of the few that Reaper believed could kill him. And she would feel no remorse in doing it.

Sombra was picking at her purple nail polish. She lifted her gaze to meet Reaper’s again. “Is it true that you can regenerate brain tissue?”

Reaper paused. Weird question. “To an extent, yes.”

“Because Moira was talking about you, and she said that you could—unless they hit you in the brain stem or something.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

Sombra sighed, reached for Reaper’s arm, reconsidered it. “You know, I wouldn’t be upset if you just… came home, Gabe. Soldier 76 is safe now, right? Isn’t that what you set out to do in the first place? I’d much rather see you in a jail cell than… y’know.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I can’t do that, Sombra.”

“I know.” She dropped her gaze. “Worth a shot, at least.”

“Hey.” Reaper took a step forward and placed his hand on Sombra’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Scoffing, Sombra rolled her eyes. “Implying I’m worried about you.”

“Will you let me know if you learn anything else?” Reaper asked.

“You’re asking a pretty big favor of me. I’m already risking my job security by being here right now.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Besides, you crushed the only tracker I had on me.”

”You’re smart, you’ll figure something out.” He paused. “And thanks for doing this.”

In a show of mock surprise, Sombra put her hands to her face and made the most dramatic look she could muster. “Wow, was that a _compliment_ I just heard? Are you feeling okay?”

Reaper rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away. Leave it to Sombra to ruin a moment with her damn sarcasm. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Sombra chuckled, her mocking expression fading into one of concern. Her eyebrows furrowed. She hesitated for a moment, looking between the floor and Reaper, before she took the plunge and quickly wrapped her arms around the taller man. “Just… stay alive, okay? Promise me?”

Reaper’s body went rigid as Sombra pulled him into the embrace. There were strict boundary rules with him, and this was definitely breaking at least ten of them. After a few moments of over-analyzing the situation, of thinking if it’d be appropriate for him to just shove her away again, he gave up and leaned into the hug, patting her back awkwardly a few times before stepping away. It was better than nothing, he figured. “I don’t have any intention of dying soon.”

Sombra had a goofy grin plastered on her face. She extended her pinky finger out in front of Reaper. “You have to pinky promise me that you won’t die!”

Was she being serious? The woman was in her 30s (20s?), for Christ’s sake! Surely she had outgrown this childish promise-keeping a decade or two ago. He crossed his arms in front of him.

Upon noticing Reaper refusing to accept the promise, Sombra shook her pinky in the man’s face some more. “I’m not leaving until you do this pinky promise!”

The sooner he got this over with the better, Reaper thought. No matter how ridiculous it was. Grumbling something under his breath, Reaper stuck out a bare pinky finger and crossed it with Sombra’s.

Her face lit up. “ _¡Estupendo!_ Remember, you can’t break a pinky promise! Or it’s like, seven years bad luck or something.”

“ _Sombra.”_

“Alright, alright, I’ll get out of your hair! Geez.” Sombra pulled up a small digital display in front of her and pressed a few of the keys. “I’ll _think_ about helping you again, but I make no guarantees. Without a tracker, it probably won’t be likely. But we’ll see. Anyway,” Sombra winked, “tell _Jack_ I said hi.”

In a blur of static, Sombra was gone, having translocated back to the base, Reaper assumed. She was annoying as hell, but her heart was in the right place at least. Not many people could put up with him the way she did, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

Reaper sighed. It was probably time to deal with the situation at hand. He could worry about Widowmaker later; he figured he had at least a couple of days before she found them. Plenty of time to plan.

Glancing at their hideout, Reaper walked a path that stayed far away from the structure. He just hoped that Ana was still actually asleep.

On the other side, Reaper glanced around to see if he could spot the vigilante anywhere. He found him sitting on a patch of grass with his back against the tree, skimming through something important looking on his tablet.

Reaper approached and cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.” 76 didn’t bother to turn around and look at him. Just kept swiping through the tablet.

Upon continuing to get no reaction from him, Reaper let out a small huff and helped himself to squatting down next to the other man.

After what felt like hours, 76 finally clicked the tablet off and set it down on his lap. “I was wondering when you were finally gonna come out again.”

Reaper snorted. “It’s late, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Someone’s gotta keep watch while you’re not doing your job. Besides, figured I’d wait up for you. Here,” 76 reached around to his side and grabbed a brown paper bag. It crinkled obnoxiously loud against the quiet of the night. “You like burgers? Ana picked you some up. They’re a bit cold, but I still think they taste fine.”

Reaper gingerly grabbed a side of the bag with his thumb and forefinger and peered inside. There were still four burgers in their bright yellow wrappers in the bag. The thought of eating them at that moment made his stomach turn. “No, thanks.” He handed the bag back.

“Suit yourself.” Without a moment’s hesitation 76 reached into the bag and began scarfing down one of the burgers. With a mouthful of food, 76 gestured at the pile of stuff at his side.

Reaper noticed the bone-white color of his mask sticking out beneath the pile. His gauntlets were laying on top.

He swallowed his bite of food. “So, uh, Ana noticed your stuff laying on the ground.”

Reaper’s body tensed. “And?”

“We had a talk after I woke up. Talked about why your stuff was there, why I was acting so weird.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I’m not a good liar, especially with Ana, but I tried my best. I told her I didn’t know about your stuff. She didn’t push me about it, but I think she has her suspicions.”

“Of course Ana would have suspicions. She’s always fucking _loved_ getting into my business.” She was worse than Morrison in that regard, but not by much. His voice lowered. “Did you tell her about earlier?”

The vigilante hesitated before raising his eyes again, daring to make eye contact with him now that he could actually see his eyes. It made Reaper more uncomfortable than it should have.

“No. Figured you’d wanna keep that private. Hell, I want to keep it private until we figure this out.”

Jack’s eyes were starting to get their shine back, Reaper noticed. They weren’t as dull and lifeless as they’d been back at the Talon base. He much preferred them like this, he decided. And while he was by no means a romantic, his eyes were nice. Light blue. A surprising contrast to the scarred flesh that surrounded them. Reaper dropped his eyes again to rifle through the pile.

“What is there to figure out? Seemed pretty straightforward to me,” said Reaper.

“There’s a lot to figure out.” 76 crumpled the cheeseburger wrapper into a ball and placed it back into the McDonald’s bag. He fixed Reaper with another look.

There was something unidentifiable in his expression, Reaper noticed, some emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. Vulnerability?

“What are we, Gabriel?”

“We’re two people that kissed. Don’t overanalyze it.” _Like you do everything_ , Reaper thought.

“I’m not over analyzing it! We went from friends to lovers to sworn enemies trying to kill each other to… whatever this is now. Forgive me if I’m confused about the dynamics of this relationship!” 76 scratched at the back of his neck.

 _He’s_ nervous, Reaper immediately realized. The great Jack Morrison is intimidated by relationships. Reaper smiled beneath his mask, but immediately dropped it. He fell quiet. “What do you want us to be, Jack?”

“I don’t know.”

“You kissed me.”

“And you reciprocated!”

“Why?”

“It just felt right, I don’t know!”

Whether 76’s face was flushed from anger or embarrassment, Reaper didn’t know. The vigilante wasn’t certain about what he wanted and Reaper wasn’t going to push him. It would sort itself out in its own time, one way or another. He went to put his gauntlets back on.

“Did you, uh, was earlier okay with you?” 76 asked. He was back to staring at his face.

“Are you asking if I liked the kiss?

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t have reciprocated if I didn’t.”

“I guess.”

Jack looked out of place, Reaper noted. His hands were in his lap while he pulled at some loose thread on his t-shirt, his eyes downcast again. He reminded Reaper of a kicked dog. Unsure of himself and extremely out of his element. It was pathetic to look at and Reaper didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He went down onto his knees and scooted closer to the vigilante until he could place a hand on his shoulder.

“Jack. Hey.”

He looked up at that, eyed the hand on his shoulder with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Reaper sighed. What the hell was he doing? “I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

76’s eyes widened almost comically as Reaper wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and pressed his lips to his, being careful to avoid his still swollen nose. Everything about him was rough, from his cracked lips to the way his gray beard scratched at his skin to the calloused fingers that came up and cupped his face as he leaned into the embrace.

“You need to shave,” Reaper growled against his lips.

“You’re not the first person today that’s told me that.” The vigilante smiled, his face flushed, and went back in for another gentle kiss.

 

———

 

“Remind me again where you got this car from?”

Ana rolled her eyes and chucked another duffel bag into the trunk of the rusted SUV. “I bought it.”

“Liar.”

“You’re right, you caught me. I stole it from some poor soul.”

Reaper finally chimed in at that. “Grand theft auto? I never took you as the type, Ana.”

Jack and Ana glanced at each other and back at Reaper before they both burst in to a fit of laughter.

Were they… mocking him? Reaper felt his blood go hot at that. He didn’t like it when people laughed at him. Or with him, whatever they would probably say if he brought it up. It was a legitimate observation, he had thought.

Upon seeing the wraith tense suddenly, Ana did her best to try and calm herself down and slapped a hand on his back—much to his disdain, as made apparent by the swaths of heavy black smoke that started swirling around him.

“We’re just having fun, Gabriel.”

 _We’re just having fun, Gabriel._ Reaper sneered under the mask.

Ana continued, “I stole this from Los Muertos. The driver went inside a store, and I figured they didn’t need it. I’ll give it back to the scrap yard when I’m done with it.”

Reaper shook the thoughts of murder from his head and went to go grab a crate of supplies to stick in the back. “Won’t they be missing it?”

“Probably. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t run across any gang members, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” Reaper eyed the SUV with disdain. The vehicle was at least 25 years old, he reckoned. Older than a lot of the members of Los Muertos. The silver paint on it was starting to flake off in large pieces, revealing the rough metal beneath. Reaper was surprised that the piece of shit could still run. A car was a car though, he supposed, and it beat the hell out of having to walk the streets in plain view. Even if the car let out a death rattle every time it had to be started.

“Jack, can you give me a hand with this?” Ana asked, pointing at the crate filled with ammunition at her feet.

“Sure thing.” 76 limped over to her, crouched, and, with a grunt, lifted the heavy crate to waist level.

Reaper stood back and watched. Sure, he could have helped, but it was a lot more entertaining watching Jack struggle to lift the thing he could have lifted with no effort a few months prior. The muscle mass on his forearms was slowly but surely starting to come back, but his arms still trembled under the weight. Despite the fact that the Soldier Enhancement Program had given the man extraordinary strength, his muscle tone was still definitely a use it or lose it thing per human biology.

The vigilante took a few steps before stumbling on his bad leg, almost sending the ammo scattering to the ground. He shot Reaper a silent plea.

Being the nice man he was—and totally not because he was getting fed up with this pathetic display anyway—Reaper stepped in and took the crate from the man, who immediately grabbed for his crutches leaning against the side of the car.

“So where to now, Ana?” 76 asked after a particularly brutal coughing fit, his eyes following Reaper as he carried two more crates.

She thought for a moment. “I figured we could go ahead and head back to Egypt. We still have a lot of unfinished business there. And it’s far away from here, most importantly.

 _Far away from here._ The words put a bitter taste in Reaper’s mouth. Egypt was far away—but was it far enough? It was an obvious choice for the duo to go back to. It would probably be the first place Widowmaker would think to check out. She was a talented huntress.

 _Tomorrow_ , Reaper decided. _I’ll tell them tomorrow._

With a final glance behind him, Reaper closed the trunk of the SUV and got into the passenger seat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve almost mixed up the Soldier Enchancement Program and Marvel’s super soldier serum so many times it’s not funny. Surprise, Jack and Gabe are actually Captain America apparently! Words are hard
> 
> Also, this is my monthly thank-you to everyone who’s dropped a kudos or a comment! You all motivate me to keep writing! <3


	16. Chapter 16

76 was tired of staring out the window. They had already been driving for five hours and there was no end in sight. Nothing to do except occasionally chat with Ana, fiddle with his tablet, or stare out the window. Sleep was out of the question; even though he had his bad leg propped up on the seat next to him, it still hurt like nobody’s business. He must have messed something up when he stumbled on it while packing the SUV. His nose hurt. Ana and Reaper refused to let him drive, saying that he needed to keep his leg up. She joked that he would probably fall asleep at the wheel anyway.

Reaper offered no reprieve from his boredom either. The man was silent, only speaking up when someone asked him a question. Just _great_ company, 76 thought bitterly.

He could only watch so many farms and sparse landscapes go by. Despite being born in Indiana—corn central—even he had his limits on the amount of crops he could see before losing his mind.

76 spoke up, “How much longer, Ana?”

She kept her eyes on the road. “About five hours.”

“Any way we could speed that up?”

“Yes, if you want to break the law.” Ana glanced up into the rear view mirror to try and catch his eye. “Why? Are we getting impatient?”

“A bit, yeah. My leg is killing me.”

“Do you need some more painkillers?”

“I just took some. But they’re taking their sweet time kicking in.”

Reaper spoke up. “Whining isn’t going to fix your leg or make the ride go any faster.”

76 narrowed his eyes at the back of Reaper’s headrest. He could sour a mood faster than anyone else. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”

Ana coughed, trying to break up the mounting tension in the car. “Fareeha used to hate long car rides, too. She’d complain the whole way. I was so glad when she finally outgrew that phase.”

“Except the difference is that Fareeha was a child and this is a grown man whining like a child,” Reaper muttered.

Ana rolled her eyes in the mirror at him, a smile on her face. She nudged Reaper's shoulder with her elbow. “Maybe if he’s a good boy, we’ll get him a Happy Meal on the way home.”

Had this been any other time, 76 would have been furious. He hated being talked down to, hated being treated like he wasn’t a goddamn war veteran in his 50s. Yet something about the three of them being in a car together, Ana joking with Gabe at his own expense, reminded him of the old days. Maybe he could play along with this just for old time’s sake.

“I hate McDonalds. I want Burger King.” 76 crossed his arms in front of him in a feigned pout and kicked Ana’s seat in front of him for added effect.

Reaper, much to 76’s surprise, was quick to catch on. “Don’t talk to your mother like that or I swear to god I’ll pull this car over, young man.” The words sounded weird coming out of his mouth with his gravelly voice. It made 76 crack a small smile. He liked it when Reaper joked; it was such a rare occurance from him anymore that it made it all the better. Reminded him of the old Gabe. With how edgy his new persona was, 76 wondered if it physically hurt him to crack a joke every once in a while.

He decided to test his limits again—a possible death wish. “Sorry, daddy.”

76 laughed loudly at the choked noise that came out of Reaper’s mouth in response. Ana just scoffed and rolled her eyes again. He was in the middle of thinking up even more ways to mortify the wraith when a sharp bump pulled him from his thoughts.

“Damn, I’ve lost control of the steering,” she shouted. “We have company!”

The SUV skidded to a sharp stop in a sudden plume of smoke, sending the trio lurching forward in their seats. 76 quickly righted himself and rolled down the window. There were four cars behind them that came to an abrupt stop beside them, blocking the road. Fourteen people stepped out of the cars with rifles, he noticed, raised and pointing at them. They were wearing dark clothes and had bright paint in bone-like patterns covering their exposed skin; he immediately recognized them as members of the Los Muertos gang. Those punks didn’t know when to quit.

There was a sudden loud noise right next to his ear, almost deafening him, accompanied by the sound of a gun being fired. 76 eyed the source of the noise to find a bullet lodged in the frame of the window. He was lucky; the bullet had barely missed his head.

76 quickly pulled his head back in. His heart was hammering in his chest. _That was too close._ “Los Muertos behind us!”

“I’m on it.” In a cloud of billowing black smoke, Reaper flew out of the open window. The gang members fired their rifles at the dark shape, only to have their bullets fly through him. One of the men let out a surprised gasp when Reaper solidified behind him. The gasp turned into an abrupt cry that was followed by silence as Reaper snapped his neck with a grunt.

The rest of the gang stared at the body in horror as it fell to the ground, lifeless. They immediately raised their guns again and started firing at Reaper.

“Damn!” 76 went to unbuckle himself as fast as he could and kicked the car door open. He drew two pistols from their holsters at his hips and went to get out. Rather than leaping out of the SUV as intended, however, his leg decided that it was a good time to painfully spasm, causing him to fall out onto his face instead. He let out a string of curses and sat back up, gritting his teeth through the sharp pain.

The pistols felt unnatural in his hands; it had been a long time since he’d had to fire one. After he had gotten his pulse rifle, he hadn’t had much need for them. Despite this, he has continued to keep one on his belt anyway. You never knew when you would need something small and reliable for self-defense. It was a good thing he had kept his pistols. They were good guns, but he missed the weight and power of his pulse rifle.

76 managed to fire off two shots into a gang members’ leg; he crumpled to the ground with a yelp. Another man next to him went down, unconscious. Ana was peering out of the driver side window with her biotic rifle in hand.

A bullet painfully grazed his shoulder. 76 hissed. Reaper was an idiot for jumping in there alone! At least he seemed to be enjoying himself, though, 76 thought. The wraith was cackling as he drew out his shotguns and splattered the heads of two unfortunate people in a spray of blood. Someone from behind Reaper tried to get a few shots off on him, but 76 managed to shoot her in the stomach before she could do any damage. Three others went down. 76 popped another twice in the shoulder. Ana took down another.

With a sharp intake of breath, 76 tried to stand up again so that he would no longer be the sitting duck. His leg spasmed again, harder than before, and it almost sent him reeling to the ground for the second time.

He could do this. He was stronger than this.

He wasn’t going to let them down again.

The sound of shattering glass tore his attention away from the battlefield and back towards the SUV. Something had smashed one of the rear windows to pieces. _Good,_ 76 thought, _at least it wasn’t Ana’s window._

Searing pain suddenly blossomed through his upper torso in hot waves. 76 had been shot enough times to recognize when a bullet had pierced his skin and into the muscle, and this was definitely one of those times. The combined pain of his leg and torso was too much to handle; he fell to his knees with a loud grunt.

Reaper was over him in an instant, partially blocking him with his own body mass as he fired his shotguns into the group.

There was something mesmerizing about the way Reaper fought, 76 reflected. It was so similar to Gabe’s style, yet so different. More ruthless. More reckless. The thought was quickly chased from his head as a fresh wave of pain swept over him again. It made his stomach turn. He refused to look down at his chest and at the blood that was surely flowing down his shirt. He could be fine as long as he refused to acknowledge the wounds. Just focused on staying conscious and his own heavy breathing.

76 barely noticed the blood that had begun to trickle down Reaper’s jacket, didn’t notice when the last of the Los Muertos members slumped to the ground in a mess of gore. His brain felt white hot. Too much to process all at once. He was bleeding. He could see it on his hand when he pulled it away from a wound. Couldn’t look at the actual bullet wounds. He had to fight down a fresh wave of nausea, had to fight hard to regain control of his breathing. He wasn’t going to let them down again, he refused. His face felt hot. At some point he had dropped his pistols.

Reaper was over him, facing him this time. He knelt down beside him, said something that didn’t register in his brain, placed a hand on his arm. His breathing was almost as labored as his. His mask was red with blood.

Something shattered next to him. 76 gasped loudly as a yellow liquid coated him and soaked his shirt. As if by magic, the pain was gone from his body. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time.

Reaper cursed beside him. Looking over, 76 noticed that he had gotten splashed as well. There was the sound of a car door closing and Ana kneeled down next to them.

“Are you two alright?”

“ _What is this shit?!_ ”

“Hush, Gabriel. Jack?” She cupped a hand to his face and moved it around, inspecting him. His pupils were blown.

“I got shot a couple times, but I’m fine.”

Ana scoffed. “You don’t _look_ fine.” After thoroughly assessing 76, Ana finally turned to Reaper. “You don’t look much better, either.”

Reaper waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. Worry about him first.”  
  
Ana raised an eyebrow, skeptical. His black coat was shiny with blood, and she wasn’t sure whose it was. “If you say so. Let me get the first aid kit.”   
  
“We don’t have time. These cars are blocking the road. We don’t know how long it’ll be before they send reinforcements,” Reaper grumbled.   
  
“Neither one of you are fit to travel. Besides, moving Jack would only irritate the wounds—yours as well. Let me patch you up.”   
  
Her word was final; neither man dared to disagree with her. They had seen her fury enough times to know that it was not wise to argue with her.   
  
Ana dug around in the glove compartment of the SUV for a bit before coming back with a med kit in hand. 76 groaned when he saw her pull the set of tongs out of the case; he’d had enough bullet wounds in his lifetime to know where this was going.   
  
“I think I’d rather bleed to death, honestly.”   
  
“Give it some time and you will. Now hush. I’ll be quick.”   
  
76 huffed and closed his eyes. Bleeding to death was sounding better and better. At least if he was dead he wouldn’t have to face the minutes of hell he was about to endure. Way to kick a man when he was already down. “Alright,” he relented.

  
76 felt Ana’s hands on him as she positioned herself in front of him. Her skilled fingers poked and prodded at the torn flesh surrounding each bullet wound. He gritted his teeth as he felt her place a palm around one of the wounds and dug the tongs into his flesh. An involuntary grunt came out of his mouth. He could feel every slip of them inside him as they gripped the bullet.   
  
With a careful yet quick motion, the bullet was free. A fresh trickle of blood poured out of the wound. It hurt worse than it had before.   
  
And that was only one of them.   
  
“Are you doing okay?” Ana asked.   
  
76 gritted his teeth again. “Just peachy. Hurry up with the rest.”   
  
“If you say so.”   
  
The next couple of minutes dragged on for what felt like hours. Just when he thought he was done, Ana would find another bullet lodged in his chest somewhere. Each one somehow managed to be more painful than the last.   
  
76 gave a sigh of relief when the last of the bullets was dropped into the dirt beside him. His shirt was officially ruined, he decided, finally looking down at the blood-soaked fabric. Great. Ana handed him a large gauze pad to hold over his chest while she went back to the car.   
  
Her voice was quiet from behind the car. “Now, do you want me to shoot you with this just for fun?”   
  
76 eyed the biotic rifle in Ana’s hand with a groan as she came back. She paused a few feet away, waiting for his response with a tilt of her head. He’d been at the receiving end of her rifle plenty of times in the heat of battle. It never got better, no matter how supposedly beneficial the healing syringes were; a shot was a shot, and they were even worse when they were fired at you at over 1,000 miles per hour. Never had liked needles much in the first place. 76 grunted, “No, thanks.”   
  
“You’re no fun.” She squatted down next to him and retrieved one of the syringes from her rifle. Nonchalantly, she stuck it into the meat of his shoulder.   
  
76 watched as the yellow fluid drained into his arm. Layers of muscle and flesh slowly began weaving over the bullet holes, closing them; he didn’t think he was ever going to get used to that. After a few minutes, all that was left of the wounds was drying blood and shiny new swathes of scar tissue.

  
Ana beamed at him. “There! Good as new! How do you feel?”

“Like I was shot and then had bullets pulled out of my chest. All things considered, though, I feel better. Thanks, Ana.”

“You’re very welcome, Jack.”

76 turned his eyes over to Reaper. He was still squatting down next to them, but seemed to be staring at something far in the distance. Heavy smoke encircled him, concentrated and fizzling in the areas where Reaper had been shot. Amazed, 76 watched as the bullets embedded in the wraith’s shoulder seemingly pushed themselves out of his flesh and clattered into the dirt at his feet. He’d known that Reaper had accelerated healing—it was the only thing that made sense given their past encounters—but he had never seen it in action before. Whatever that geneticist had pumped into Gabriel, it had come with its benefits as well as its faults. Emphasis on the faults.

76 pointed to Reaper’s shoulder. “Is that your weird healing thing?”

Confirming his suspicions, Reaper, still distant, nodded his head slightly. He turned down Ana’s offer of being stuck with a biotic syringe with a raise of his hand. “We need to keep going,” Reaper rasped.

Ana threw her hands up, exasperated. “I don’t understand you, Gabriel. Fine. As long as you’re certain that you’re not going to bleed all over the car. If I see one drop of blood on that leather, though, I will stick you.” She offered a hand to help pull Reaper up, but he swatted it away. 76 gladly accepted her help.

Eyeing the new pile of bodies, 76 carefully worked his way back over to the car. It was a grotesque site. The area was splattered with blood and chunks of gore—Reaper’s doing. Those that weren’t missing parts of their head were groaning weakly. It made his stomach twist; half of them were still teenagers, maybe with families. Hell, maybe this gang was their family. He didn’t like hurting kids. During his time in the military, he’d had to do some things he wasn’t proud of—orders were orders. But now he had a choice. He did what he had to do to make the streets a safer place, but he knew he wouldn’t purposely kill a child.

The thought of calling for emergency services flashed through his mind. The more rational part of his brain decided that that would only draw attention to them.

A quick movement from Reaper caught his eye. One of the gang members—the girl—had reached up from the ground to grab at Reaper’s leg. His gun was already pointed at her, his finger on the trigger. She gasped out something in spanish that 76 couldn’t catch before Reaper, point blank, pulled the trigger on her in what 76 was starting to recognize as very characteristic spray of blood. Her arm fell back to the ground, lifeless.

“Christ, Gabe,” 76 breathed. The glance that Ana shot him echoed his sentiments.

Reaper shrugged it off, tossing his shotguns to the ground with a raise of his shoulders. “ _‘Laws catch flies but let hornets go free.’”_ With that, Reaper opened the car door and slammed it behind him.

The ensuing car ride was awkward, to say the least. Awkward and quiet. 76 tried to start small conversations with Ana to break the tension, but they were quick to end, plunging the car into silence once more. Reaper cleared his throat.

“This seems as good a time as any to break the news.”

76 and Ana were quick to snap their attention to Reaper. His hackles were raised.

“Talon knows about Morrison and I going missing, and they’re not happy. They’ve sent Widowmaker out to kill me and probably you two as well.”

The car swerved hard at that.

76 was the first to speak up. “Damn, way to be blunt about that!” he growled. “Lacroix?”

“The very same.”

“Shit.” 76 didn’t know how to process this news. It had come out of the blue. He knew Widowmaker; she was the one that had assassinated that Omnic monk. The one that had almost killed Ana. If she had been able to get the jump on someone as talented as Ana, then they were in trouble. Gabriel was in trouble. “How long have you known this?”

“About two days.”

“And you didn’t think it’d be a good idea to tell us sooner? What else do you know?!”

“Calm down, Morrison. We have some time. It’ll be a couple of days before she sets off, and even then she’ll have to find us first.”

His blood was boiling. “You of all people should know that this isn’t something to take lightly! How do you know this? Are you still in contact with Talon, Reyes?”

“I have a connection, but I’m not in contact with Talon. How about that?”

The calm tone of his voice was really pissing him off. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 76 barked.

“You don’t, but you said earlier that you’d trust me. So trust me now. I’m as apprehensive about this as you are.”

“Yeah, says the ghost man that can self-heal bullet wounds. Not all of us here have that ability! Do you even have a plan?”

Reaper grunted. “I’m not one to run from conflict, but I’m realistic enough to know that I wouldn’t stand a chance in a sniper fight. So my plan is to fly somewhere that _isn’t_ Egypt—at least until I know her angle.”

“Like?”

“Anywhere else.”

 _What a plan!_ He wasn’t a fan of running away for the rest of his life, either. It was a bad idea. “Ana, what are you thinking right now?” She’d been quiet ever since the topic was brought up.

Ana contemplated for a few moments more before she finally spoke up. “I’m thinking that we should strike first. I’ve been undercover ever since she almost took my life. I’d like the opportunity to try and return the favor, to show her that this old woman still has some fire in her.”

“There’s a problem with that,” Reaper started. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There’s three of us and one of her; it’d be a hell of a lot easier for her to spot us before we even knew she was in the area. We can’t just sit on our asses all day and wait until one of us finds the other first, just waiting to strike. It’s idiotic and a waste of time.”

As much as 76 hated to admit it, Reaper had a point; none of them knew how long it would take Widowmaker to find them. Trying to track her down first would only draw attention to themselves, and there were a lot of people after them at the moment. But at the same time, he didn’t want to just run away from his problems. Not again.

“If we could just find out where she was coming from, I’m confident that any one of us could take her down.” He took in a sharp inhale of breath. “She can’t kill all three of us at once. I could act as a decoy—“

76 could feel Ana’s eyes boring into him from the rear view mirror almost immediately. Her voice was soft and steady. “Out of the question, Jack. I already almost lost you—both of you—twice. And unless Gabriel breaks my heart again, I’m not risking either one of you. And that’s final.”

“Then what the hell do we do, Ana?” 76 hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so unsure, but it betrayed him.

“We stick together and sort this out as a team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this is such a late update, but this chapter’s a bit longer to compensate! ;o; It’s been a super busy month for me of exciting stuff happening! I took a trip to Iceland (10/10 would recommend), moved into my very first apartment, and started up college again (0/10 would not recommend). Now that my first week of classes is over, hopefully I can start working on this bad boy as normal again.  
> Also, I’m sorry if I take forever to respond to your comments! I read all of them and appreciate every single one I just forget to check my email for weeks at a time apparently huehuehue BUT I will respond to them!  
> Ok that’s all for now ilu


	17. Chapter 17

_“_ Can’t you work any faster?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had to work on this kind of vehicle, especially a V2?” 76 wiggled out from underneath the car enough to glare daggers at Reaper, who was tapping his foot far too loud for his liking. “Literally since before I left the military, Gabriel. You’re more than welcome to come down here and work on it yourself if you’d like.”

“You know I don’t know shit about cars. That was always your expertise.”

“ _Expertise._ Right. In that I know how to fix a tractor.”

“Basically the same thing.”

76 snorted. ”Then you’re more than welcome to leave instead of bitching at me every five minutes.

“I’m good right here. Besides, I like watching you work with your hands.”

Reaper enjoyed the way the vigilante almost smacked his head on the underside of the car at that. _Testy._ The fact that Jack immediately popped his head out again—probably to see if Ana had heard him or not—while shooting him a look didn’t go unnoticed to him. It really wasn’t that big of a deal to him if Ana found out about them—whatever _them_ was, anyway. He mostly just kept it a secret (for the most part) as a courtesy to Jack, who seemed fairly self-conscious about it.

He could be nice. Sometimes.

76 projected his voice, as if making sure that _this_ was what Ana heard instead of Reaper’s little comment. “I think the, uh, magnetic resonator is busted on this thing. Whatever that gang stuck on the car has had us scraping metal for the past few miles now. We’re either gonna have to start walking or pay someone to fix this.”

Either one of those was out of the question. Time was their greatest resource at the moment. “Or we could just steal another one,” Reaper suggested casually.

“I’m not just gonna steal some random citizen’s car!”

“You don’t have to. Ana or I will.”

“Ana stole the last one because it belonged to Los Muertos. And unless you’re planning on tracking down one of ‘em again…”

Reaper didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. The vigilante had stolen before, to the point where he now had a bounty on his head big enough to feed a family of four for life. He knew that pulse rifle that he’d had strapped to his back long ago—he’d recognize Overwatch technology anywhere. Knew that tacky as shit tactical visor. And yet _now_ he was suddenly too morally superior for a little grand theft auto. He always had been a fucking hypocrite.

“ _Fine,”_ Reaper grunted. “What do you suggest we do then?”

“We’ll have take it to a mechanic. It can’t drive for much longer in this state, but hopefully we can at least get it to the nearest town.”

Reaper scoffed. “What, bring a stolen vehicle to a mechanic? I’m sure that’ll go over _real_ well.”

“Unless you have a stash of money somewhere that could buy us a new car, that’s the best I’ve got right now.” 76 wriggled back out from under the car and grimaced. He held up a grease-covered hand. “My knee’s killing me. Could you, uh…”

Reaper eyed the grimey hand in front of him with disdain, weighing the pros and cons of the situation before him. Would it really be _that_ bad if he just left him there on the ground?

Ana would lecture his ear off if he didn’t, though. That was motivation enough.

“Yeah, fine.” Grudgingly, Reaper reached down and grabbed 76’s hand in a firm hold before jerking him up onto his feet. A pained hiss tore through the vigilante’s clenched teeth as he stumbled onto his bad leg, causing him to almost crumple on the one side. Reaper wrapped an arm around his waist to stabilize him as he shifted his weight again.

“Thanks,” 76 breathed. He reached out and feigned grabbing at the crutches that were leaning against the side of the car. Getting the hint, Reaper gently released his grip around his waist and went to bring the crutches to him.

Sometimes it hurt being so nice.

“Ana!” 76 shouted.

The sniper poked her head around the billboard she had perched on and waved.

76 waved back, gesturing for her to come back down. She was quick to oblige, descending down the ladder on the billboard pole like a woman half her years. She was out of breath when she approached them.

“Is something wrong?” Ana asked. She wiped at the sheen of sweat on her brow with the back of her sleeve.

”Yes and no. Everything’s fine, but I think the car’s busted.” 76 proceeded to tell her about their potential options and mentioned the points that Reaper had brought up as well. Ana was nodding along all the while, her thumb under her chin in contemplation. Only once 76 was done explaining the situation did she speak up again.

“That’s unfortunate.” Ana patted the pocket of her coat. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I have the money right now to pay a repairman.”

76 grimaced. “And I sure as hell don’t, either. It doesn’t seem like we have too many options right now. If we can get the right part and find a decent how-to tutorial I could _maybe_ —emphasis on the maybe—see what I can do. But we’ll still have to get this piece of junk to town.”

“I believe in you.” Ana smiled and clapped him on the back.

 

———

 

The car ride to the nearest town was miserable. The sound of metal screeching on metal was now incessant, like nails on a chalkboard. Every time they hit a bump, Reaper could see sparks flying off from beneath the car. Not too much worried Reaper anymore, but he was very much not a fan of the idea of the car bursting into flames and all of them catching on fire. He’d been caught on fire before. Wouldn't recommend it.

The closest town, according to Ana, was San Luis. Reaper had never been to the small town, but he’d heard it was a half decent place. Unlike its surrounding cities, San Luis had a fairly low crime rate. People there were too busy working their asses off from sunrise to sunset to even think about robbing someone at gunpoint. It would be a nice change from Castillo; he’d dealt with enough gangbangers to last him a lifetime now.

The car had barely made it to the town. Judging by the sounds it was making, it was only one bad bump away from breaking down. Reaper had never been more glad to see a town’s welcome sign in his life.

_¡Bienvenidos a San Luis!_

_Población: 412_

The town’s brightly colored brick buildings contrasted against the shrubs that lined the street and had withered in the sun’s heat. The roads were cracked and broken with potholes every few feet. It was as if the government had completely forgotten about the town's existence and had never sent them a dime for maintenance.

Reaper spoke up, “Stop the car. I’m going to go ask someone where the damn mechanic is so we’re not driving around for the next hour looking for one.”

He caught Jack giving him a skeptical look in the rear view mirror. “Are you sure that’s smart? Looking the, uh, way you do, I mean?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.

Reaper shot the look right back at him. “Figure I’m the only one here who can speak half-decent Spanish—unless you finally learned the damn language without me noticing.”

A shit-eating grin spread across Jack’s face. “ _La biblioteca es muy grande.”_

Reaper rolled his eyes behind his mask. “You’re a jackass. Park the car, Ana.”

_“Please_ park the car, Ana,” the sniper said in a sing-song voice.

_For the love of god…_ “You’re both insufferable.” It was like working with children.

Ana laughed but obliged him anyway, pulling the car over into what looked like the parking lot of a small grocery store.

Reaper’s search had been more fruitful than he’d been expecting. The first shopkeeper had wanted nothing to do with him, but he was able to get some information from the second one. Fortunately, his Spanish had been decent enough to get what he wanted to know out of him. The shopkeeper, a short unimposing man, had told him about a mechanic a few blocks over that worked out of his garage who might have car parts available for sale.

Reaper sent Jack hobbling over with him to go talk to the mechanic; Jack was the car person, anyway, and he had no idea where to start when discussing them. So he translated the best he could between the two.

Ana must have noticed the solemn look on Jack’s face when they left, because the first question out of her mouth was “How much?”

“That put us back about $400,” 76 replied gruffly.

Ana winced. “It's fine. It’s not like I needed to eat or anything.”

Reaper snorted at that; if they had just stolen the damn part like he recommended—or better yet, a new car—they wouldn't be in this predicament. At least it wasn't his money being spent.

“The mechanic confirmed that it was the magnetic resonator that got screwed up, at least. He offered to let me borrow the tools I’d need, too. Thought that was nice of him.”

“You came in looking half-starved, on crutches, and not speaking a word of Spanish. He probably took pity on you,” Reaper suggested casually with a shrug of his shoulders.

76 fixed him with a glare. “Your commentary is appreciated as always.”

“I know.”

“Anyway,” 76 coughed, ”I’ll get to work on that as soon as I can. Might take me a day or so if we want to find a place to lay low.”

Ana’s silver eyebrows were furrowed. “Given the state of the car right now, I don't think we have too many options. If need be, I saw a motel on the way into town. We could camp there for the night.” She elbowed Reaper. ”Gabriel is buying.”

“Yeah, right.”

“When’s the soonest you could get to work on it, Jack?” Ana asked.

“We have the part,” 76 rubbed at the scruff  his jaw, “so I guess I could start now. I’d like some time to read into it first, though, so the damn thing doesn't explode on me. Realistically, maybe in an hour or two.”

Ana clapped her hands together and beamed at 76. “Perfect! Let's get to it then; I hadn't written dying into my schedule for today.”

 

\------

 

It was almost morning by the time Sombra had made it back to base. Just before the break of dawn had always been her favorite time of the day. Sure, she could get a lot more done in regards to covert operations at night, but there was something about the soft beams of sunlight that swept over El Dorado that soothed her soul. Dawn meant that it was a brand new day to expose the corruption of the world.

One of the good things about being Talon’s resident hacker was that she could come and go as she pleased at all hours and no one raised an eyebrow. How else was she supposed to get that good intel, after all? There were four guards armed with heavy assault rifles stationed outside of the entrance to the base; Talon must have been on high alert after Gabe’s little prison break. It made sense, she supposed. She waved at them (only one waved back, the bastards) and pressed her palm against the handprint scanner at the entrance. It flashed green.

Sombra couldn’t have walked more than ten feet inside the building before she was greeted by the sight of Moira staked out at the inner doors. The geneticist had pulled up a chair from somewhere—probably her own room, by the looks of it—and was casually flipping through a book. Upon noticing Sombra, she dramatically closed the book (as if she totally hadn’t been expecting her, riiight) and placed it in her lap.

“Oh, Sombra! I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yeeeah. But, like, why?” Sombra raised an eyebrow at the hilarity of the whole situation. This was not a thing that normal people did. Normal people did not wait at the entrances of buildings for hours at a time for people who may or may not show up. This, if anything, was just reaffirming her suspicions that Moira was weird as hell and also maybe an alien.

Moira delicately laid her hands across the top of the book on her lap. Sombra glanced at the title on the spine; it was something biology related. “I was worried sick about you, what with you being gone all night!”

Sombra scoffed. “You’re acting as if this isn’t something that I do, like, all the time. What do you want?” She liked to think she was a lot more perceptive than the idiot Moira thought she was, apparently.

“Where were you last night, Sombra?”

The question threw her off guard. It was a reasonable question, but she hadn’t been prepared for it. In her defense, though, she hadn’t been expecting anyone to be waiting to ambush her the minute she walked in the door.

_Think, Sombra._ “I don’t think that’s any of your concern, lady.”

“Oh, but it is.” Moira stood up, placing her book back down on the chair behind her before stepping towards Moira. At 6’3”, she loomed over Sombra, her sharp features pronounced in the fluorescent lighting. Sombra thought she looked a bit like at shark with the wide predatory grin on her face. “I have reason to suspect that you’ve been in recent contact with Reaper and the prisoner.”

“Yeah? And what makes you think that?”

“Call it a scientist’s hypothesis. Why else would you have disabled your communicator? You weren’t scheduled for any missions last night. Don’t you think it’s a bit _odd?”_

Sombra could feel the hairs on her neck practically bristling at the accusation. Sure, she was _right_ , but she didn’t like being accused of such things from some lady with a god complex. Especially if those accusations could have her killed if the wrong people got word. “Those are some pretty hefty accusations you’re throwing around. I’d be careful, if I were you.” She shrugged. “I was out for personal reasons last night. I don’t need you all listening in on my personal life.” Sombra winked at Moira. “Unless you were wanting to hear the sounds of me getting railed last night. If you want, I could maybe find a tape somewhere—“

Moira rolled her eyes. “You’re disgusting. Personal lives or not, you were at the latest meeting. You’re aware of the building’s lock-down policy until this little Reaper situation gets sorted out, correct?”

It was Sombra’s turn to roll her eyes now. “If you think I’m going to put my personal life on hold just because some old dudes said so, think again.”

“You know as well as I do how unwise it is to go against Talon, Sombra. These rules are in place for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, they’re dumb rules.”

Moira placed her hands on the tops of her thighs and knelt down to be closer to Sombra’s height. “I’m only bringing this up because I care about you, Sombra. You’re a good teammate and a vital part to Talon’s success. I’d hate for something to happen to you for something as benign as withholding information. I know that you were, ah, visibly upset when you learned that Widowmaker was put in charge of tracking down Reaper and the prisoner. And I know you may mean well. But don’t do anything that you would regret.”

“Don’t talk to me like you’re my mother! I know you don’t care about me; you don’t care about anything except your damn research!”

Silence on Moira’s end. If Sombra hadn’t felt like she wanted to punch the scientist in the face at that moment, she would have found the stunned expression on her face almost comical. Except she totally did want to punch her in the face and the sight of her raised, perfectly plucked, ginger eyebrows only infuriated her more. Who did she think she was? On what grounds could a disgraced scientist working for a terrorist group give _her_ advice? Moira didn’t have an empathetic bone in her body.

There was the sound of frantic footsteps coming from around the corner. Sombra peered around the edge of the wall to find a group of guards—just back from a patrol, judging by their equipment—rushing down the hallway towards them. The guards acknowledged them with a brief passing nod before hustling away.

Moira grabbed a passing guard by the shoulder and jerked, forcing him to stop and look at her. “What’s going on?” she asked. Her voice had its typical soft canter of when she wanted to seem like a concerned scientist and not just some nosy bitch, Sombra noticed with a sneer.

“A patrol reported in, Doctor. Said that they have reason to believe that they have an idea of where the escapees might be.”

The sly look that Moira shot her didn’t go unnoticed. “Oh?”

“The report states that there was a brutal confrontation on Highway 47 that blocked up the road. 13 dead—Los Muertos.”

“How do you know this wasn’t just standard gang violence?” Moira asked.

“He was in bad shape, but there was one survivor. Said there were three people involved and that one of them didn’t seem human. I’m guessing that’s our boy.”

Moira crossed her arms. “Possibly. But if what he said is true in that there were three people, who is their third?”

“Hard to say.”

“Hmm. That’ll be all, then.”

The soldier gave a curt nod before trotting off to rejoin his group.

As soon as he was back on his way, Moira turned back to Sombra, a blank expression on her face. “Interesting.” Sombra knew that the geneticist was trying her hardest to not laugh in her face at that moment. “What impeccable timing.”

What _crappy_ timing, was more like it. Sombra couldn’t believe it. How had Gabriel already gotten himself into trouble? She had seen him not even a day ago! He was getting sloppy if he was leaving a body trail, much less a witness. It wasn’t like there were other people in town clad in black and still wielding shotguns like it was the early 2000s. Leave it to him to cause a scene, and then subsequently get _her_ caught in a scene.

_Pendejo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College this semester has murdered me. R.I P. me   
> x.x


	18. Chapter 18

It was nearly one in the morning when Reaper stumbled upon Jack in the parking lot of the motel. He would have walked right past him had it not been for the glare from his flashlight catching his attention. It had been at least six hours, yet he was still working on that piece of shit car. Even he of all people should know when to call it quits; the thing was obviously beyond repair.

Reaper squatted down beside the car and dipped his head to get a better look at what the vigilante was doing. There was the sound of metal parts being cranked; he was doing… _something_ with a wrench. And judging by the pinched expression on his face, he was miserable down there.

“Hey.”

“ _Shit!”_ His head shot up from beneath the car, causing him to hit his forehead on one of the metal parts. He let out a groan of pain and it took all Reaper had not to laugh at his misfortune. Slowly, Jack wiggled his way out from underneath the car, glaring daggers at him all the while as he rubbed at his forehead.

_Yeah, that was probably going to swell by the morning._

“Don't sneak up on me when I'm working on shit!” Jack hissed.

“Not my fault you're going deaf in your old age.” Reaper shrugged. ”I gave you plenty of warning.”

“What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?”

“Testy this evening.” Reaper glanced between Jack and the car; it looked exactly the same as it did earlier. If this was what _being busy_ looked like, then they were doomed. “It’s late. Shouldn't you be in bed?”

76 sighed. “Not until I finish this, no. This is proving to be harder than I thought.”

Reaper made a thoughtful noise. “Have you reconsidered stealing another car yet?”

“Out of the question.”

“Have you considered taking a break, then?” Exhaustion was evident on the vigilante’s features. It was obvious that his focus was only partially there at the moment.

“I've got to get this done—”

“You'll be more productive if you take a break.”

“But—”

“Sit down, Morrison _.”_

His mouth snapped shut at that, his words suddenly lost. 76 let out a frustrated huff but obliged, scooting out from beneath the car and pushing himself up into a seated position with his back against the metal frame. There was a sour look on his face that Reaper couldn't help but find _hilarious_.

Reaper joined him in sitting against the car, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Part of him wanted to sit right next to him, but he chose to leave a couple feet between them anyway; he looked like he needed space. Silence stretched on between them for several minutes with Reaper being unsure of what to say. There wasn't much for him _to_ say; he'd always been shit at small talk.

“Nice night out,” Reaper offered.

“Yeah.”

He glanced at the vigilante. His gray t-shirt was heavily stained with smears of black grease and God knew what else. Somehow a black smudge had managed to work its way onto his nose, making him look a bit like a dog, Reaper thought. Working on cars was filthy work; there was a reason he'd never gotten interested in it.

“You seem lost in thought,” Reaper stated bluntly. “Something wrong?”

“Hm?” Jack snapped his attention back to him. “Oh. Nothing really. Thinking about this whole car situation, I guess.”

“Well, stop thinking about the whole car situation for a few minutes. That's the purpose of a _break_.”

“Easier said than done.” Jack looked down at his hands, grimaced, and wiped them off on his sweatpants. “Actually, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about.”

“Yes?”

He looked back up at him. “What are your plans after all of this,” he gestured around them, “has settled down? You know Talon’s not going to take you back after all this, right.”

Reaper shrugged. “Who knows. Probably revisit my list of surviving Overwatch members.”

“Huh.” 76 chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Not quite the response I was hoping for.”

Reaper snorted. “What, do you want me to say I'm going to give up my evil ways and rejoin Overwatch?”

“No. Overwatch is dead and we both know that.” He gave him a weak smile. “Wouldn't be upset about that first part, though.”

“Right, like that would go over well.”

“Why not?”

Reaper tapped at his mask. “ _That’s_ why. I don't think people would take too kindly to being rescued by some deformed monster who drains people’s life force for fun. Besides, I'm wanted on almost every continent for terrorism. People don't just forget about that because you do a couple good deeds, Morrison.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence before Jack spoke up again. “I don't think you're a monster.”

“You’re different. I’d hope that you could stomach looking at my face—seeing as you're the one that fucking caused this.”

For a split second Jack’s gaze drifted downwards before he was right back at it with his steely resolve. “Who cares what other people think? You're capable of change, Gabriel. Even you can turn your life around for the better.”

“Drop the pep talk. I don't want to hear it.”

“You did the same thing for McCree; you saw potential in some scrappy kid breaking the law and managed to turn his life around. If you can do it for him why not do the same for yourself?”

“ _Drop it._ ”

“I know you're still a good man, Gabriel Reyes!” His voice was becoming frantic. “We can do so much good for these people!”

“Jack, _please—_ ”

The vigilante closed the gap between them and propped himself up on his knees with a wince. He put his hands on Reaper’s shoulders. “I _care_ about you, Gabe. And I get that you feel like Overwatch—like I—turned our backs on you and you want to get revenge because of that, but I can't just sit back and watch you go back to killing innocent people. I don't want to go back to this stupid game of cat and mouse again; I don't want to kill you. And if you care about me at all, even if it's just a little bit, you'll stop this whole pointless revenge thing!” His voice cracked on the last word. “Just… stay with us, Gabriel.”

Reaper studied his face carefully. Jack looked about ten years older in that moment. For once, he was noticing the heavy creases along his brow, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the scars on his face that seemed to multiply every time he looked at him. A stark contrast to the bright-eyed blonde kid he'd first met 35 years ago. He looked tired, more so than he'd seen him in a long time. And something about the wild and desperate look in his blue eyes, the way he was looking at him right now, hurt him to his very core. Fuck, he was getting soft in his old age.

“I’ll... think about it.” Anything to get him to stop looking at him like that.

Jack’s expression immediately brightened and he was smiling at him again and that alone was enough to make him want to stay. His expression faltered for a bit, thinking, Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around Reaper’s neck and attempted to pull him in for a hug but stopped once he realized that he was making no progress in his current position. Instead, Reaper repositioned himself to where he could hook an arm under Jack’s arms and thighs and scooped him up into his lap facing him, being mindful of his bad knee. 76 shot him a small grateful smile before wrapping his arms around his shoulders again and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

It reminded Reaper of when they were much younger. How they were practically inseparable during the rare moments of alone time they got together, how Jack was always the one that had insisted on cuddling. Part of him was glad to see that that ridiculous personality trait of his hadn't changed with age. With a defeated sigh, Reaper wrapped his arms around his back and returned the embrace. His frame felt small against his.

They sat like that for what felt like hours, just the two of them in a motel parking lot. Reaper was aware of how ridiculous it must have looked, but he couldn't muster the ability to care—about that or the dark grease stains he was probably going to find on his uniform later.

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his lap. “The edge of your mask is digging into my head.”

“Deal with it.”

The vigilante lifted his head, raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and preceded to stick two fingers into the mouth hole of Reaper’s mask and lifted.

Reaper was quick to swat his hand away. “That's _strapped on_ you little shit!”

Another unimpressed look. Soldier 76 reached for the crescent-shaped hole in the mask again.

“Stop!” Reaper let out a frustrated growl. “Fucking… _Fine.”_ 76 smirked at him, fully aware of the fact that he had won, as the wraith unclasped the straps at the back of his head and set the mask aside.

His entire body felt naked without it on. Vulnerable, like a piece of his core was missing. The only times he ever took it off were for bed and when he showered, and definitely never in public like this. He hated it. But Jack was so goddamn _incessant_ about everything—probably would have torn his head off with it had he not complied. Hell, he'd killed for smaller inconveniences than this. Jack was just lucky that his shotguns were out of reach.

76 smiled at him—a full on teeth-showing smile—and pressed a chaste kiss to his mottled cheek. It was still weird for him having Jack show affection, but he was slowly starting to get used to it.

“Someone’s affectionate all of a sudden,” Reaper commented. It wasn’t wholly unappreciated, just different.

“Maybe. Just happy, I guess.” He peppered a trail of kisses across his jawline. “‘m glad you trust me enough for this.”

“If that's what you want to call it.” Reaper rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face. His arms were still lightly wrapped around the vigilante’s waist. He was at a loss of what to do—what to say, even—as Jack continued pressing kisses to seemingly every inch of his face. “Quit!” said Reaper, but he couldn't quite muster enough vehemence in his tone for Jack to take him seriously, apparently, because he just pulled back and gave him another stupid smile before pressing their lips together. The vigilante‘s lips were dry and cracked against his, yet Reaper found he was easily losing himself in the kiss. Sensing his eagerness, the wraith quickly deepened it.

Reaper could feel Jack’s heartbeat hammering through his own chest. They finally broke for air, and all of a sudden Reaper was all too aware of the fact that they were casually making out in a motel parking lot like a bunch of fucking teenagers. Jack was looking at him through half-lidded eyes, his breathing heavy.

Reaper cleared his throat, trying to keep a clear head. “Should we move this somewhere that isn't sitting in a parking lot?”

76 smirked. “I'm open to ideas.” He let out a small gasp as Reaper jerked his jaw up with a clawed hand and preceded to nip and lick a wet trail up his bare throat.

“There's a car right behind you. Apparently the seats are fold-down…” Reaper rasped into his throat. The stubble along Jack’s neck scratched at his skin.

“That's certainly an option.” Jack reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a set of car keys to unlock it, never taking his eyes off of him.

With a grin, Reaper hooked an arm around his back and thighs and scooped him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 50% more old man cuddles!
> 
> Also just a heads up, the next chapter is smut. It’s fairly vanilla, but please feel free to skip it if that sort of thing bothers you! It’s not plot essential or anything


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut chapter incoming! It’s not plot essential, so please feel free to skip it if that sort of thing bothers you!

76’s back hit the smooth fabric covering the back of the car seats with a thud. It wasn't the most comfortable of spots, but it would have to do. For all of the car’s apparent shittiness, at least it had tinted windows.

Reaper was on top of him in an instant, clawed hands running under his shir. At some point, Jack’s face had turned a bright shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, and Reaper couldn't help but find it oddly endearing as he squirmed impatiently beneath him.

“Take your clothes off,” Reaper demanded. He sat up and tugged at the hem of 76’s shirt.

76 let out a breathy chuckle. “You don’t want to see me naked. I'm, uh, not in the greatest shape right now.”

“Don't care. Take them off.”

With a sigh, 76 sat up and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head before tossing it off to the side. He raised a silver eyebrow at the wraith, waiting for a reaction. Upon getting no snide comments for once, he grunted and dropped his gaze to Reaper’s body. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?”

“My uniform’s a bit harder to take off than yours.” Reaper helped the vigilante pull his pants down over his hips and off his legs, leaving him in just his boxers. He hungrily drank in the sight of Jack splayed out bare before him. His body was a roadmap of scars—some of which he had caused himself—that stretched across the pale expanse of his skin. He traced a thumb along four long lines that ran down his ribs. New scars, a memento from their time together almost a month ago. Reaper couldn’t help but admire them. They had healed well, all things considered, but had left the skin puckered and shiny where they had grown over. He thought they were beautiful.

“Come here.”

76 was quick to oblige, leaning forward to press their lips together, slow and sensual. It was almost frustratingly slow for Reaper; he preferred his sex rough and frantic, not this romantic shit that Jack was used to. But he wasn’t going to push him, not during their first time together in nearly a decade.

76 broke the kiss only to push on Reaper’s shoulders until he was laying on his back. He scooted downwards until he was propped up on his elbows next to his thighs. He tugged at the mass of belts at his hips. “I’m not convinced any of these are actually keeping your pants up,” 76 quipped with smirk.

“I’ve got a lot of shit to hold.”

“Uh huh.” 76 shook his head and pushed the mass of belts up and over the wraith’s hips before undoing the button to his pants. He tugged down his pants just enough to pull out his half-hard cock and Reaper couldn’t help the gasp that came out of his mouth.

“Jack…” His name fell off his tongue more like a plea than the intended warning he was hoping for. Unable to muster any vehemence in his words, Reaper went to gently push him away at the shoulder instead.

76 slapped his hand aside and shot him a reassuring half-smile. “I want to do this.” With newfound bravado, he placed a wet kiss to the side of Reaper’s length before gingerly taking the head into his mouth, keeping eye contact with him all the while.

Reaper brought the back of his hand up to his mouth to stifle the groan that threatened to spill out. The vigilante’s mouth was the best fucking thing he had felt in _years_ and it took all of his concentration to not finish right there in the heat of his mouth. God, he was _pathetic_. What had happened to him?

Seeing Reaper’s reaction to his affections, 76 took more of him into his mouth, slowly bobbing lower and lower until he got about half of him inside his mouth.

“F-Fuck, Jack…” He spread his legs further to give Jack better access. A crimson blush had blossomed across the vigilante’s face, and he was the most beautiful thing Reaper had ever seen at that moment. His blue eyes looked up at him with all the affection in the world; he didn’t deserve it.

After a particularly sharp jerk of his hips and a grunt much louder than he had intended, 76 pulled off of his cock with a breathy chuckle. “You’re a lot more sensitive than I remember. Not gonna finish early on me, are you?”

“Not if you keep running your mouth I’m not.” He placed a hand on the back of 76’s head, lightly urging him forward.

76 took him into his mouth again, swallowing him to the base. He let out a pleased hum at the resulting half-growled moan that came out of the wraith’s mouth, followed by a slight whimper covered by a cough as he started to bob his head.

With his hands free, 76 propped himself up onto his good knee and scrambled to push his boxers down just enough to free his own manhood.

Reaper watched with half-lidded eyes as Jack wrapped a tight fist around his own cock and frantically started to stroke himself. Trying to keep up with him, Reaper thought with a smirk.

_Christ._

Reaper threw his head back and let out a moan when the vigilante drew his tongue along the underside of his shaft. Words escaped him. His core felt like a tight spring as crescendoing jolts of electricity shot up his spine. He frantically tapped on Jack’s shoulder, just hoping he would get the message.

Apparently not, because he just slowed his motions and quirked an eyebrow at him with a questioning hum. Continued to jerk himself off. Seeing his stiff cock smeared with precome in his hand was enough to set him off.

It was too much. “God, _fuck—_ sorry!”

Jack’s eyes widened comically as he finished in his mouth, Reaper’s hand on the back of his head grabbing gray fistfuls of hair as he rode out his orgasm to a trembling finish.

He let go of his hold on Jack’s hair the minute the waves of pleasure ebbed away, allowing the other man to pull off. His lips were wet and shiny with a mix of spit and cum. Reaper swiped a leather-clad thumb along his bottom lip, being careful not to poke him with the pointed end.

“Open.”

As per command, 76 opened his mouth wide to show off the pool of cum that had collected on his tongue and threatened to sloppily run down his mouth. Never breaking eye contact, 76 closed his mouth again and made a show of swallowing it down.

“Mm. Fuck,” Reaper panted. “Good boy.” His whole body felt numb; he hadn’t finished that hard in years. Arms shaking, Reaper buried his face in the crook of his elbow, trying to come down from his previous high.

A small whimper pulled him out of his trance. Jack was propped up on a knee, still frantically stroking himself. His face was buried in the crook of his arm, yet Reaper could still hear the desperate grunts and whines that were coming out of his mouth.

 _How selfish of him._ Reaper tucked a finger under the vigilante’s chin to shift his soft blue-eyed gaze back to him. Fuck, he was beautiful when he was like this, Reaper found himself thinking unprovoked. He longed to shove his cock back into that perfect mouth.

Reaper scooted up into a seated position and patted the empty space between his spread legs. “Come here.”

Jack was quick to oblige, scrambling to get up onto his hands and knees. Reaper grabbed his hips and turned him to be facing away from him before pulling him down into his lap. Sweat was starting to bead up along his chest and neck from their trapped body heat in the car.

Reaper nipped playfully at his ear. “What do you want, Jack?”

Upon getting no coherent response, Reaper nipped a bit harder, eliciting a sharp yelp from him. “ _Tell me._ ”

That got him to talk. “I don’t need anything. Don’t worry about me.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re a terrible liar.” He licked a wet line around the shell of his ear. “I just watched you almost get off to sucking my dick, jacking off like some horny teenager. Don’t tell me you don’t _need anything,_ Jack Morrison.”

Reaper watched as Jack’s ruddy cock twitched with interest. He was panting heavily.

This was going nowhere. The vigilante was apparently _too fucking shy_ for the first time in his life to vocalize what he wanted; he always had been shit at taking care of himself. It was only fair that he return the favor, though.

Reaper undid the clasps to his gauntlets before tossing them to the side. He grasped the tip of a glove between his teeth and pulled. “Do you still like having your chest played with?” His voice was muffled as he tugged the second glove off.

Reaper wrapped an arm around Jack’s torso, running a hand over the lines of his stomach, up and down his sides, across his chest—whatever expanse of bare skin he could reach.

“Gabe, really, I’m fine!” 76 insisted.

His voice was still hoarse from choking him down earlier; Reaper decided that he liked it. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, but...“ His words trailed off abruptly when Reaper grabbed Jack’s cock with his free hand and squeezed while his other hand ran a thumb over his left nipple. His head lolled back onto Reaper’s shoulder.

“You’re fucking _dripping,_ Jack. Shit.” To prove a point, Reaper smeared a thick bead of precum over the head of his cock, earning him a soft gasp. Reaper smirked. _I’m fine_ my ass, he thought. He took him back into his fist and started stroking him, slow and intentional at first, then faster to keep hearing the breathy noises coming out of Jack’s mouth. His name on the vigilante’s lips sent a fresh wave of pleasure to his spent dick.

“Gabe, you don’t, nn—“

“Tell me I don’t have to do this again and I’ll gag you with my own damn belt.”

That quickly silenced him.

His skin was like fire to the touch. For a brief moment, the wraith considered putting on one of his gloves again and raking his claws across the pale expanse of his chest. Give him a few more scars, mark him as _his_ so he knew who he belonged to each time he looked at them.

With a snarl, Reaper roughly jerked Jack’s head to the side and gave a sharp nip to the soft skin between his shoulder and neck.

With a cry and a sharp jerk of his hips Jack was spilling his load into Reaper’s loose fist.

Reaper let out a pleased hum and continued to stroke him through his orgasm until he had collapsed back against his broad body. He was still panting heavily when the wraith brought two fingers still streaked with semen up to his mouth. 76 managed to turn his head in time to watch as he lapped his cum off of his fingers. Upon catching his eye, Reaper gave him a sly smirk.

“You taste good.”

Reaper cackled at the redness that immediately rose in the vigilante’s face before he bent forward and buried his face in his hands. His heart fluttered a bit at the quiet sound of Jack chuckling, low and husky despite being muffled by his hands.

And for the first time in a long time, Reaper found that he actually felt happy. He longed to take this moment in time and preserve it forever. Reaper sighed. His mood immediately dropped again at the realization that this, like all things, would have to end. Happiness was fleeting, especially given the circumstances. Always had been.

He wrapped a hand around 76’s torso and pulled him back up into a kiss. Maybe he could give himself a few more minutes before calling an end to their break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slams fists* I’VE HAD THIS CHAPTER WRITTEN FOR MONTHS
> 
> Also I bumped the rating on this up to E just for this chapter, even though the rest of it is M, just to be safe!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana starts to have suspicions about the exact nature of Jack and Gabe's relationship; Jack is a terrible liar.

Soldier 76 stared down into the black contents of his coffee. He could see the upper half of his face reflected and skewed in the black coffee. Definitely not his better angle. There were already bags under his eyes—an indicator of just how shitty his sleep had been recently. He had only just finished working on the car two hours ago. Seeing no point in trying to sleep for two hours, he just stayed up. The night before, his dreams had been filled with images of rags over his face, the threatening blanket of suffocation looming just on the horizon. That release had never come, though, and he was forced to relive the sensation over and over and over again until his body finally woke him with a desperate suck of oxygen into his heaving lungs.

He was on his fourth cup of coffee now; he had given up on putting sugar and creamer into his coffee on the second cup, just desperate more than anything to quickly get the caffeine into his body.

The lobby of the motel was empty except for him, Gabe, and the concierge. Thankfully, Reaper had never been much of a small talker in the first place, leaving 76 in silence to think while sucking down his coffee. If someone were to talk to him right now, he couldn't guarantee that he would have a nice thing to say to them anyway.

Reaper sat there, elbows on the table and fingers interlaced in front of his face. It was hard to tell with the mask, but 76 felt as if the wraith was staring at him. He didn't mind his company as long as he wasn't forcing him to talk—it’d been a strange gesture from him to check in and sit with him, yet not an unwelcome one—but he'd rather not be scrutinized in his sleep-deprived state. 76 cleared his throat and did his best to ignore the other man.

At least the car was up and running properly for now. He could rest easy in that regard. He really should return that mechanic’s tools before they hit the road again; it was the right thing to do after he had been so kind towards them. Put Gabe on translation duty again to properly convey his gratitude to the man.

76 went to stretch out the stiffness in his shoulders and grimaced at the stinging sensation along his neck. He glanced down. From the corner of his eye, he could see the red and purple splotch of a bruise not fully covered by the collar of his gray t-shirt. _Great._ It was like high school all over again. He must have made a noise, because he noticed Reaper perk up and tilt his head slightly.

“Thanks for that,” 76 scowled, pointing at the bruise on his neck. “Couldn't have done it anywhere less visible?”

Reaper let out a pleased hum and leaned over the table. “Nope.” He pushed the collar of his t-shirt aside with his fingers and ran a leather-clad thumb along the dark bruise on his neck. 76 winced as he pressed down hard on the sensitive spot. “Looks good on you.”

“ _Looks good on me?_ ” 76 grunted. _“_ You’re not the one that's going to have to explain why a man in his 50s has a damn hickey on his neck!”

Reaper chuckled at that, because _of course he would,_ and traced his thumb up and along his jawline. “Wouldn't mind giving you a few more…”

“What are you, a vampire? Quit!” 76 was quick to swat his hand away, a flush threatening to creep up his face. As tempting as it was, he was in no mood to deal with the wraith's attempts at seduction—especially in a public place. He cleared his throat and tossed a glance at the concierge desk; the man working there quickly looked away when he caught his gaze.

“You're no fun,” Reaper teased, but he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair anyway.

There was movement ahead of him. Soldier 76 looked up to find Ana fully dressed in her blue and tan uniform and walking towards him, looking as refreshed as someone who had had a full eight hours of sleep and not a person who had been cramming caffeine into their body like their life depended on it. She smiled when they made eye contact.

“Good morning, boys,” she called out cheerfully and joined them at the table in the far corner of the lobby.

76 grunted in response. He loved Ana to death, but he was in no mood to deal with her cheeriness and morning-person attitude.

She fixed him with a look, the same kind of look she would give Fareeha whenever she had been caught acting up; 76 thought it was kind of funny. “I didn't hear you come to bed at all last night, Jack. By the looks of you right now, I’m guessing that you didn't sleep at all?”

“You'd be right,” 76 grunted. ”Had shit to do.” Including having sex with their mutual friend for the extra hour that he could have been sleeping. In his sleep-deprived state, he was almost regretting it. Almost. He pushed his coffee mug towards her. “Coffee?”

Ana clicked her tongue, pointedly ignoring the blue mug in front of her. “Jack Morrison, you know that's not healthy. I would have rather stayed here an extra day than have you not get any sleep.” She lightly punched his shoulder. “We need you sharp and well rested, soldier!” Turning her attention to Reaper, she placed a light hand on his wrist; he was quick to pull his arm away and turned his attention away from them.

“How did you sleep, Gabriel?”

“Didn't.”

76 noticed thin wisps of smoke radiating off of him. While it wouldn't have been noteworthy to most people, dismissing it as a thing that Reaper and his weird ghost powers just _did,_ the vigilante had spent enough time around the man now to know the signs of when he was lowkey pissed. _But about what?_ he couldn't help but wonder.

“Yeah, well, 76 cleared his throat in an attempt to bring the attention away from Reaper, ”at least the car’s done.”

“Oh?” Ana perked up at that.

“Yep. I drove it around earlier and it seemed fine to me.” Soldier 76 rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands. They were bleary from a lack of sleep and he was struggling to even see straight at this point. He needed more coffee. “After what felt like days of fiddling with it, I finally got the magnetic resonator working again. Thankfully, that was all that seemed wrong with the car because it drove fine after that.” His voice was lacking its usual bravado even in his own head.

Ana nodded her head, her hand cupped to her chin. “No more scary sparks or terrible screeching noises?”

“Not as far as I can tell.”

“Wonderful!” Ana smiled and politely pushed the mug back towards the vigilante, who graciously grabbed it and took a long swig. “I appreciate all of your hard work, Jack. Even if it did result in you not getting enough sleep. I know that cars aren’t your specialty, so I imagine…” Ana became silent for a moment, her words lost mid-sentence. She squinted her eyes.

“Jack, what is that on your neck…?” Her voice was cautious, quiet.

 _Shit!_ Without thinking, Jack immediately clasped a hand over the purple and red bruise on his neck. He didn't think it was that noticeable! He had to think, _quick._ “Oh, that? It’s nothing.”

“Well it certainly doesn’t look like _nothing.”_ Ana narrowed her eyes at 76, giving him an incredulous look. “Jack Morrison, is there a hickey on your neck?”

“No!” He immediately regretted the amount of defensiveness that came out in his voice. Ana was a perceptive woman; it was pointless trying to lie to her, and he knew it. Yet he couldn't muster the courage to just outright _tell her_ about the damn thing. Leave it to Reyes to fucking _bite him_ in the most noticeable spot possible. “I must've just burnt myself earlier while working on the car.”

Ana was clearly not convinced. Just kept staring at him with that same knowing look. “Do you take me for a fool? I’ve been in the dating scene. I’ve raised a teenage girl, Jack; you forget I have a special sense for these things. And that’s no burn.” Ana leaned forward and lightly reached for his hand. “Let me see it.”

“No!” He could feel the heat starting to rise in his face. He was acting like a petulant child; he knew it. Yet one stern look from Ana—that damn _mom_ look of hers that he had seen far too many times—and he was grudgingly pulling his hand away from his neck, his eyes downcast.

Ana gently ran a thumb along the purple and red bruise on his neck. Threw her head back and actually _laughed._ “You old dog! Now I know why you were _really_ up so late!” There was a playful sparkle in her eyes, her voice no longer admonishing and stern. “Looks like someone's been up to some _extracurricular activities_!” Her eyes met his. ”Who’s the lucky person, hm?”

All of the color drained from 76’s face at the question. She _would_ ask that. Again, he was between a rock and a hard place; he didn't want to lie to her again, but he also didn't know how she would react to the truth—hell, how _Gabe_ would react if he told her, especially in his current pissy mood. The wraith was still seated at the table, silent, his arms crossed in front of him. It felt like he was awaiting his response, too, just waiting to see what he would tell her first. How would _he_ feel if he just dismissed the two of them?

Jack stammered out something that sounded like “No one!” and quickly closed his mouth. God, he hated this pressure. Usually he was good at handling stressful situations, but this was even out of his realm. He shot Ana a pleading look, just hoping that she would drop it. She smirked at him in response. Waiting.

The thought of lying and just telling her that it was some random prostitute flashed through his mind for a split second. She would never buy that, though; Jack Morrison was too cautious to hook up with strangers. Not knowing what to say, 76 just shrugged his shoulders, still silently begging her to drop it. It was nowhere near an actual response, yet he hoped it was enough.

The sniper narrowed her eyes at him, the cogs visibly turning in her head. She placed a finger on her chin, looked from 76 to Reaper, who was avoiding eye contact with the both of them, and back to 76. Her eyes suddenly shot wide open, her eyebrows furrowed. She pointed between him and Gabriel again. “You two…?”

76 kept his eyes downcast; he didn’t dare meet her gaze. Didn’t dare answer one way or another, yet he felt like his silence spoke volumes.

Ana made a confirmatory noise, nodded. Her expression returned to normal—always trying to be the unbiased mediator despite the turmoil Jack _knew_ she was feeling. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Jack, a word?” Upon seeing Reaper perk up she added, “ _Alone?”_

The wraith stared at her.

76 swallowed heavily. “Sure.” He looked over at Gabriel.

“Don't worry. I got the hint,” said Reaper. His tone was caustic. He stood up from his spot at the table and trudged out the front door, wordless.

The minute Reaper was out of earshot, Ana started poking at 76’s chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. Her voice was stern, the same authoritarian voice she had used when discussing battle plans back in the day. This wasn’t his friend Ana; this was Captain Amari. “You’re being intimate with him now?”

76 shrugged, meeting her hard gaze with his own. _Might as well own up to it at this rate._ “What about it?”

Ana looked around as if she couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “ _What about it?_ You’re having sex with the man who captured and tortured you for a month? The man whoss sole mission is to kill every former Overwatch member? Or did you just conveniently forget about that?”

“I never said anything about sex—“

“You’re having sex with the man—ghost, monster, whatever the hell he is—who, in an attempt to kill you, killed your comrades in the destruction of the Swiss headquarters? Who would have killed you in Giza had I not been there?” There was a hardness in her eyes that 76 had not seen in a long time. Since Reyes had gone against orders and killed Antonio. She was an intimidating woman when she was upset and age hasn't changed that at all.

76 narrowed his eyes at the sniper in front of him. “You were fine with me inviting him along. If you were that against it, Ana, why didn't you explode at me then like you did just now?”

“I didn't explode—” she scoffed. ”Inviting him along is one thing, Jack, but having an intimate bond with him is just foolish! Being attached to him is only going to result in heartbreak when you finally realize you can't change him! This isn't Gabriel Reyes, Jack, this is a terrorist. He is dangerous and unpredictable!”

His blood was starting to boil. There was a lot he could put up with but being talked down to like a child was not one of them. He was a grown ass man, he could make his own decisions. He shouldn't feel ashamed of what he did.

Ana stopped for a moment and lowered her eyes, thinking. She took a deep breath. “I thought we agreed to not keep any more secrets from each other.” Her voice was shaking with emotion, but her eyes were still steely with resolve. “When were you going to tell me, Jack?”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “You want to talk about secrets?” 76 squared up his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s talk about how you’ve known about Reaper’s identity since I met you in Giza and decided to never tell me.”

Ana’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I saw you take his mask off. I know you recognized him. And yet you didn't think that was an important fact to tell me?”

“I thought you knew!”

“Bullshit!” He was raising his voice, he knew, but he couldn't muster up the will to care. Let the people stare. “I asked you about it after the fight, and you told me it was some random guy. And I trusted you. I had suspicions, sure, but I dismissed them as ridiculous because I saw his _corpse_ in Switzerland, Ana. Being tied down in a torture chamber is not a great place for it to dawn on you that your former best friend—who you'd thought was dead—is the one waterboarding you. The one breaking your bones and _laughing_ about it!”

“If he tortured you then are you having sex with him?!”

“I don't know, Ana!” 76 bellowed. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Ana stared at him, silent, hurt clearly etched into her features. At any other moment it would it have pained him to see her so upset. Anger, frustration that she of all people could be so ignorant, was overriding all other feelings.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure. Yelling was going to get him nowhere. “I don't know. It's weird, I know. But you haven't seen him the way I have. We talked for a long time last night.” His voice softened. “He’s _trying,_ Ana.”

Her voice was soft when Ana spoke up again. “I knew how much he had meant to you, Jack. To us. I didn't want to burden you with that knowledge. I thought that it would be easier on you if you kept believing he was dead rather than what he had become.” She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Jack. It wasn't for me to decide how you would handle that knowledge. I… I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should have.” 76 looked out the window next to them. The sun was finally starting to peak above the horizon, turning the sky a brilliant gradient of orange and blue to the east. His hardened expression slowly melted into that of placidity. He'd always had a hard time staying mad at Ana. Maybe it was the way she was so genuine in whatever she did, even her apologies. She meant well; everything she did for him came from a place of love, even if it was sometimes hard to see it. They'd been through too much shit together to hold grudges on one another. 76 placed a calloused hand on top of hers. “But I forgive you. Sorry for not being more forward about Gabe and I.”

Her expression brightened slightly, her thin lips upturned into a small smile. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Apology accepted. No more secrets—for real this time?”

76 returned the smile. “For real this time.”

For a few moments, the two sat there, neither one wanting to be the first to break the silence. It wasn't often they got to genuinely sort through their emotions together. Too much on their plates to have these kinds of heart-to-hearts. But when they did happen—no matter how rough they started out—76 felt as if they always came out with a better understanding of one another. Even after knowing Ana for what felt like forever, he was still learning new things about the sniper.

Finally, Ana’s mouth started to twitch, her smile widening into a wolfish grin. “So? How was it?”

76 narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her. “How was _what_?” He had a sneaking suspicion…

“The sex, of course!”

“Jesus, Ana!” Suspicion confirmed. He swatted her hand away but couldn't hide the small chuckle that came out of his mouth. “You're really starting to take a liking to that gossipy old woman stereotype, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the hem of his t-shirt, pretending to be focusing on a loose thread rather than the way Ana was wiggling her eyebrows at him. 76 cleared his throat. “It was… good. Passionate.”

“Hm.” Ana nodded along as if it were the most casual conversation in the world. “Never thought he had it in him.”

76 coughed into the back of his hand. “Let's, uh… not talk about it.”

The sound of heavy footsteps in the distance immediately pulled them out of the conversation. The noise, dull at first but rapidly increasing in volume, came to a stop right outside of the front door. He thought it was Gabe at first, but it sounded as if there were multiple pairs on the wooden porch outside of the motel. His breath stilled and he glanced at Ana. She had also become deathly still, her hand ghosting over the strap of the biotic rifle on her back, and that was what worried him the most; if Ana was worried then it was never a good sign.

76 dared to glance at the man who had been standing at the concierge desk. The man was staring at them, a grim look on his face while he was talking rapidly on the phone.

Had he called the police on them? They hadn't even done anything wrong!

“We’re paying customers,” 76 asserted. He dug around in the front pocket of his sweat pants and pulled out the receipt from their booking, holding it up for the man to see. The concierge ignored them, still rapidly talking on the phone in Spanish while occasionally glancing at them.

This was ridiculous. They were allowed to hang out in the lobby for Christ’s sake! He pointed harder at the receipt, casting a glance at the front door of the motel. “Paying customers! Uh... _¡dinero!_ ”

Ana placed a cautionary hand on his forearm. “ _Jack.”_

76 couldn't understand anything that the man was saying and it was starting to frustrate him. Back in the day, Gabriel had started teaching him Spanish but had quickly stopped, stating that he wasn’t going to bother if Jack wasn't going to even attempt to take it seriously. _Impossible to teach_ , he had said. It wasn't his fault; he was skilled at a number of things, but learning a foreign language was not one of them. Jack regretted not paying closer attention back then.

However, 76 was able to pick up on one word from the man's mouth: _Talon._ It was then that it clicked in his head exactly what was going on.

“What the hell did you do?!” 76 shouted at the man, all of the heat rising to his face. He grabbed the pistol at his hip and reflexively clicked off the safety. He was about to throw himself at the man before the door to the motel was kicked open.

A line of guards in black uniforms came rushing in, their rifles raised and pointed at them. Dark-colored helmets covered their faces. 76 immediately recognized the letter T patch on their shoulders as Talon’s insignia. There were at least seven soldiers crowding into the small lobby, all shouting urgent commands at each other.

Ana was quick to pull the trigger on her sidearm, embedding a sleep dart into the exposed neck of one of the soldiers. The soldier lowered his gun to pull the dart out of his neck, only to fall forward and collapse to the ground with a solid thud. The remaining soldiers were quick to rush towards Ana in response, yelling at the two of them to drop their weapons and raise their hands, motioning at them with their rifles.

He had to think, but the panic rising from the pit of his stomach was starting to make that difficult _._ This was _not_ the time for that, he silently pleaded with his body. He tried to swallow it down. With only a pistol, he stood no chance against seven—now six—soldiers, and Ana wasn't much better at this range with her arsenal. They could maybe take down two, three if they were lucky, but by the time they did that they would be dead. But at the same time, he would rather die than get taken hostage by Talon again. He was so _stupid_ to let them get the upper hand like this! He just needed more time to think of a way out of this!

With a reluctant glance at Ana, 76 slowly bent over to place his pistol on the ground. As he did that, the door to the motel was kicked open and in stomped Reaper, guns extended.

76 had never been more happy to see the wraith in his life.

Without hesitation, Reaper aimed one of the shotguns at the nearest soldier’s chest and pulled the trigger, sending him sprawling into one of the soldier’s behind him with a loud cry. Having been caught off guard, the remaining soldiers turned their attention towards Reaper.

76 took advantage of the distraction Reaper provided to snatch his gun from back off the ground. He fired two shots at one of the soldier's heads but the bullets embedded themselves into their helmet instead, leaving the guard unfazed. 76 cursed under his breath; a useless attempt, but it had been worth a shot, at least. With all that armor, the chest wasn't going to be much better. Instead, 76 aimed down the sights and unloaded three more into the soldier's right arm. The soldier dropped his rifle to the ground with a loud clatter, using his free hand to try and grip the bleeding wounds on his arm. Not wasting time, 76 shot another three rounds into the next soldier’s arm. Between the rapid sound of gunfire and the thrum of blood pounding in his ears, it was impossible to hear what the guards were shouting at one another. Two stray bullets grazed his chest and 76 hissed in pain. To his right, 76 could see Ana reloading her sidearm with swift practiced motions, never taking her eyes off of the group in front of her.

Reaper shot another soldier, this time point-blank in the face, and 76 couldn't help but curl his lip in disgust at the resulting spray of blood and tissue as the body slumped to the ground. He shot one of the soldiers that had been sent sprawling to the ground and dropped his now empty shotguns. 76 could see the glint of blood along Reaper’s torso but he was unsure if it was his or if it belonged to one of the soldiers.

Ana wordlessly pointed at one of the soldiers who had slipped out from between the crowd and was now making a beeline for the door. In his wraith form, Reaper was quick to catch up to the man. He slipped a thick arm around his neck and pulled him tight against his body, looping his other arm around the soldier’s right arm. He muttered something into his ear. 76 strained to listen in, but his words were incomprehensible at this distance. The soldier cursed loudly. 76 saw Reaper’s grip around his neck tighten, his tone suddenly more menacing. That was apparently enough, because the soldier turned his head and started babbling something under his breath.

76 was glad to finally not be on the receiving end of the wraith's interrogation methods.

Having gotten what he wanted to know, 76 assumed, Reaper brought his hands up along the soldier’s head and twisted, breaking his neck. His body collapsed to the floor, lifeless. Without hesitation, Reaper pulled out two more shotguns from beneath his coat and rushed back out the front door in a swirl of black smoke.

76 gave a sigh of relief. That had been far too close for comfort. Thank god for Gabe and his no-questions-asked homicidal tendencies. He shot a glance at Ana. Her eyes were wide and wild, but at least she seemed unharmed for the most part.

“You're bleeding,” she noted, pointing to the split skin on his chest that was slowly welling blood.

“It's fine,” 76 grunted, “just grazed me.”

“If you say so.” She let out a shaky breath and wiped at the beads of sweat on her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “I'm going to head to the roof and provide reconnaissance. Knowing our luck, there’s probably more of them.”

“That's a good idea. I'll finish up here real quick and then go deal with whatever the hell is going on out there. Rather confront them now than deal with another surprise attack.” 76 glanced out the window of the motel. He could see a couple bodies of Talon soldier’s along the wooden patio—Gabe’s work.

Ana gave him an earnest look, her eyes stern yet gentle. “Alright. Be safe, Jack. If things get hairy, you know I’ve got your back.”

“Of course. You too.”

With that, Ana turned her back to him and headed for the nearest set of stairs.

76’s eyes fell on the remaining Talon soldier. He was laying on the ground, still with a vice grip around his arm. There was blood steadily pouring out from beneath his hand in time with his frantic heartbeat—must have hit an artery or something. At this rate, the man was going to die from blood loss. This was Jack’s least favorite part of the job: deciding whether or not he took people’s fate into his own hands. Shooting him would be a mercy at this point, but there was a chance that maybe a hospital could save him. He’d seen men come back from worse before.

76 turned his attention to the man—the traitor—behind the front desk. He was hiding behind it, only the top of his head poking out. Coward. “You—” 76 pointed at him. ”You're in charge of getting this guy to a hospital.”

The vigilante carefully hobbled his way to the mass of bodies, stepping over the sprawl of limbs, and plucked the rifle from the side of the Talon soldier before making his way towards the front door of the motel.


End file.
